Things Owed
by AkamaiMom
Summary: Over the years they've sacrificed countless times for each other. Every once in a while, they try to repay their debts. A series of Ficlets carrying the same theme. Shippy, short, simple. A little humor, mixed up with a lot of sweet angst. Marked "complete" because each ficlet stands on its own, but chapters will be added as I'm inspired to write them.
1. Emancipation

**Things Owed**

_It occurred to me (while watching Emancipation) that Jack and Sam give up quite a lot for each other during the course of their journey._

_This will be a series-simple little ficlets about them trying to settle up their debts. Each story will stand alone, so it's going to be marked 'complete' even though there will be periodic new chapters as I find inspiration. If you can think of something you'd like seen "repaid", let me know. I'm always up for suggestions._

_These will probably not go in any particular order, even though I am beginning an entire series re-watch-so that'll probably inspire me in the beginning. I'll indicate which episode corresponds with each ficlet._

_It'll be shippy. You've been warned._

**Emancipation**

"Hey, Daniel. Hey, Teal'c." Sam paused, then stopped by their table. Despite the crowded Mess, they'd been easy to find. Or rather, Teal'c had been easy to find. Jaffa just kind of tended to stick out. Something about the tattoo. Or the attitude. Or the massive quantities of food they piled on their orange commissary trays. Archaeologists, on the other hand, were often located only by default.

"Hey, Sam." Daniel looked up from his meal, simultaneously reaching for his coffee. "What's up?"

"Have either of you seen the Colonel?"

"I have, Captain Carter." Teal'c inclined his head in her direction. "This morning, after the meeting in which we debriefed General Hammond."

Daniel ducked his head to hide his grin, but Teal'c was too observant for such tricks.

"Have I said something you find humorous, Daniel Jackson?"

Sam shifted the package she held in her hands and shook her head. "He's just reverting back to being nine years old, Teal'c. 'Debrief' can also mean that you remove someone's underwear."

The face beneath the tattoo stalled for a moment. "What would be the purpose of such an activity, Captain Carter?"

"Oh, there's no purpose to it." Daniel coughed out what could only be described as a giggle. "It's just funny. Kind of like 'pantsing' someone."

Teal'c's swarthy, raised eyebrow effectively asked his question.

"'Pantsing'." Sam cleared her throat, glaring across the table at the archaeologist. "That's just removing someone's pants."

"Youve gotta pull them down quickly for it to be really effective. Daniel's smile was reflective- -and a little mean. "But if the BVDs come down, too, well. That's just a bonus."

Carter fixed Daniel with her best 'big sister' glare. "I would have thought that, of all the people on Earth, you would be most against pantsing people."

Daniel gestured at her with his coffee cup. "I am, in theory."

"In theory?"

"And of course, I wouldn't ever do it to anyone." He ducked his head again, hiding behind his coffee cup as he spoke around his sip. "Again."

"Again?"

Daniel swallowed with a sort of purposeful inefficiency. "Well, I grew up in foster homes after my parents' accident. I had to learn to defend myself."

"Were not these fosterers protective of those under their care?"

"Foster parents." Daniel supplied. "And they were mostly good people- -but there's a pecking order in these situations. After a while, I got tired of being pecked."

"That actually explains a lot about you, Daniel." Sam humphed a little. "I'd wondered."

Daniel's brows gathered at the bridge of his nose. "What had you wondered?"

"How exactly you got so resilient. You're a novice with weapons, but you're a survivor all the same."

"You can only get beaten down so many times before it either breaks you or you learn to fight back."

"True." Sam shifted the parcel she held.

"So." Daniel seemed anxious to change the topic of conversation. "What's in the box?"

Looking downward, the Captain offered a little half-shrug. It wasn't an impressive box, only about ten inches square by five inches tall. She'd dug it out of a box of random gift wrapping stuff she'd found at home. It still had tape on it from the last time it had been used. Reboxing- -was that a word? "Nothing much. Just something I thought that the Colonel might want."

"Might it be donuts?" Teal'c's expression had turned from thoughtful to hopeful.

"No. Not donuts." Sam glanced around the Mess again before giving a vague sigh. "Anyway. Have either of you seen him? I mean- -more recently than this morning."

"I have not, Captain Carter." And with that, the big Jaffa turned his whole-hearted attention to the gigantic helping of mashed potatoes on one of the plates in front of him.

"Daniel?"

"Nope." He picked up his fork and speared a soggy carrot. "Not since the meeting this morning. Although he could be in his office. He told me on the way out of the board room that he had paperwork to complete."

Carter's expression turned from inquisitive to flummoxed. "Does Colonel O'Neill even know where his office is?"

From around his mouthful of carrot, Daniel snorted. "Dunno. Do you?"

-OOOOOOOO-

At least her box got a decent tour of the SGC. If there was an upside to the wild goose hunt she'd gone on this afternoon, that was it.

Sam stood in the hallway outside the main elevator, mentally ticking off the places she'd visited in her search for her CO. Mess, 'Gateroom, locker room, armory, Daniel's lab, infirmary, her own lab, O'Neill's office, the gym, board room, and even the records room. Hide nor hair. Returning to her own lab, she'd sat and waited for inspiration to strike, without result. Finally, she'd looked at her watch and resolved to pick up the search in the morning.

She'd already punched the 'up' button, but she punched at it again, just out of annoyance, as if that diminutive circle of illuminated plastic were at fault, somehow, for her failure to locate her boss. She switched the box from one hip to the other. Damn if the thing hadn't increased in weight by about twenty pounds during her search. And all for a crap-load of nothing.

She hit the button again. Just because. Then sighed heavily when she heard no familiar whirring of life down the elevator shaft. Some idiot somewhere had the doors pinned open using another stupid round illuminated piece of plastic. Damn again.

Turning, she considered her options.

Stairs? She didn't relish that thought. The last mission had done a number on her quads and hamstrings, and she had a hard enough time sitting on the john, let alone schlepping up fifteen flights of stairs. That fight with the Ghengis Khan wannabe, as well as her unaccustomedness to jumping up onto and subsequently falling down off of horses had taken their toll. She hadn't broken anything, but her muscles were fairly peeved at her.

So, no stairs. And since she was fresh out of mini wormholes that would transport her directly to the surface and her aging Volvo, she whacked at the little button again.

"What did it ever do to you?"

Startled, Sam whirled to find the Colonel standing behind her in the hallway. His leather jacket lay folded over his arm, and his keys lay in his semi-open palm. He was wearing jeans, and a dark blue crew-neck sweater. His hair was still damp. He smelled like soap- -and some sort of grooming product that made Sam want to lean close and inhale more deeply.

She cleared her throat. "Going home, Sir?"

"If you're looking for a pithy reply, I've exhausted them all writing mission reports."

How did he always make her feel like a blithering idiot? Sam could handle things pretty well off-world, or in combat situations. But times like this- -both in civvies, both removed from their normal roles- -she never quite felt as if she measured up to her CO. Like he was light-years beyond her not only in experience, but also in something else: something undefinable.

"No." She shook her head. "Of course you're tired, Sir."

"Do I look that bad?" He peered around her, ostensibly to catch a glimpse of himself in the dull patina of the elevator doors. "I thought I'd cleaned up quite pretty."

"Yes. Naturally you did." Stammer, stammer. But Carter couldn't seem to stop it. "I mean- -not pretty, but cleaned up. But of course you're pretty- -not pretty- -but handsome. Or something."

"You think I'm handsome?"

"No- -I mean yes- -I mean- -" Damn it to Hell. Sam bit her lips together and thrust the package at the Colonel. "Here."

He reached out and grabbed the box in one large hand. "What's this?"

"Just something." She gestured a little randomly at it. "I kind of figured I owed you."

"Owed me for what?"

Genuine. His expression had turned sincere. His dark brown eyes- -when had she noticed how deep they were?- -had gone from wry to serious in mere moments. Carter notched her chin up a bit and sucked in a breath to begin the speech she'd been rehearsing in her head for the past few hours.

But before she'd intoned the first word, the elevator dinged open and a horde of people disembarked. Sam was directly in their path, and she felt herself being carried along by them until the Colonel neatly grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the way and down a corridor and towards safety.

"You'd think they were stampeding."

"It's a shift change, Sir."

His look let her know that her proffered information was superfluous. "I think I gathered that."

"Right. Sorry."

He sighed. "So, what's in the box?" He raised it up towards his ear and made a move as if to shake it.

"Um- -sir. I wouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

She reached out and took it from him. "It's just not- -the best thing." Glancing around, she judged proximities, and jerked her head northward. "Do you want to head to my lab?"

Calculating, he held her gaze for several beats. "Not work, right? Because I'm fresh out of gumption."

Her lips curved into a smile. "Not work. I promise."

They'd assigned her the lab while SG-1 had been on P3X-595. Bare bones, devoid of anything but a lab table and a stool, Carter had spent a few days' worth of down time scavenging for the necessary equipment to continue the work that she'd previously been doing out of a borrowed research lab at the Academy. Patched together with haphazard gear and pilfered tools, the place looked just like her garage back when she'd been a teenager, practicing arc-welding, fiddling with her sizable model rocket collection, and running experiments that had frequently gone horribly wrong. And it offered her a semblance of home- -far more so, at least, than the spare room she was camping in at her Dad's crash pad here in the Springs. Why he kept the place, she didn't know, but it had been a God-send during these first few months of unmitigated crazy she'd found since being transferred to the SGC.

The door stood open- -she hadn't seen the point in locking it- -so Sam merely walked on through the opening, reaching out unerringly as soon as she'd reached her workbench to flick on the light there.

"Where'd you get the lamp?" The Colonel had stopped on the opposite side of the big table. "Last I heard, you'd filled out a requisition order for one, but it hadn't been approved."

Sam looked down at the little reading light glowing on her worktable. She tried not to look too guilty. "I- -uh- -I stole it."

He didn't look surprised. "From?"

"The Armory." She lifted a shoulder, trying to seem blase. "Those guys have everything."

"And the tools?"

"Um" she considered for a moment. "Most of the standard tools are borrowed from Motor Pool. The rest I sort of charmed out of a lab assistant in the MALP bay."

"Charmed, huh?" His smile took her off guard. Reaching out, he tapped a large hex wrench with an index finger. "Good girl. I'm teaching you well."

She bit her lip against the grin that threatened. For something to do, she adjusted the package on the table in front of her, trying not to watch too intently as the Colonel heaped his jacket on an empty spot on the table. "Anyway, Sir. I wanted to give this to you."

"Not donuts."

"Sir?"

"The box." He indicated it with a motion of his head. "It's too heavy for it to be donuts."

"Why does everyone think that there are donuts in it?"

"Who else thought that?"

"Teal'c. I ran into him and Daniel while I was looking for you."

"You were looking for me?"

Sam nodded, her brows high. "Yes, as a matter of fact. For most of the afternoon."

"I was doing paperwork."

She frowned. "Where?"

"The library."

"We have a library?"

"Sure." He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "It's quiet and there are tables. It's usually empty. So. Yeah. Perfect place to do paperwork."

For a brief moment, all Sam could do was stare at him and blink. "A library. Who knew?"

He tilted his head to one side, his gesture one of modest superiority. "Well, I did. That's why I'm the Colonel."

She couldn't help it. Her grin practically outshone the lamp. "Anyway. The box."

"Yes." He smiled back at her. "The box."

"While we were with Abu's people- -the Shavadai- -Daniel told me that Turghan didn't want to let- -uh- -didn't want to- -"

O'Neill had always had the talent of breaking things down to their simplest elements. "He didn't want to sell you back to us."

A tinge of pink settled on Carter's cheeks. "Daniel told me that you argued for a while."

"Negotiated." A dimple made its mark on Jack's cheek as he semi-scowled. "The guy knew what he had and really didn't want to give you up."

"I would have thought he'd have jumped at the chance to rid himself of me. I didn't make things easy for him."

"Ah- -but maybe he liked the challenge." Picking up a screwdriver, the Colonel pressed his fingertip against the cloven end. "He said he was even thinking about making you a wife."

For several long moments, Sam couldn't even inhale. "A wife?"

"Apparently you made quite the impression. He called you 'beautiful, but difficult'."

She was back to stammering. "I don't even know- -I can't- -I'm just- -"

"You've got to admit that he had you pegged." Jack pointed at her with the screwdriver. "He offered us other women, instead. Young ones. He told us they'd pop us out lots of sons. The implication being, of course, that you were too- -"

"Old."

"Old."

They'd said the word simultaneously, Carter's tone being one of disgust. The Colonel, however, seemed to relish the phrase. So much so that he said it again. "Too _old_."

"That son of a bi-"

"Now, now. It's done and we're home. Safe and sound." He gently placed the tool he'd been playing with back onto the table before leaning forward and bracing his splayed palms on the cool metal surface. "And you have a box."

A tirade had worked itself up in Sam's throat, but she swallowed it and refocused on the task at hand. "Yes. Well, Daniel didn't tell me all of that."

"Coward."

"But," she ignored him and continued. "But he did tell me that Turghan agreed to release me when you offered him your sidearm."

His snort was decisively derisive. "Idiot didn't know that it only had six rounds left in the magazine. After he'd shot them all of into the air, the thing was essentially a paperweight."

"Yes, well. I figure that, since you gave yours up for me" She flipped open the box and turned it towards him, folding back the lid completely to reveal its contents. "I owe you a new one."

Jack straightened, reaching out to pull the box closer to him. His dark eyes looked down at the contents of the box for a long, long time before coming back up to study her. "Kleenex?"

"Tissue paper." She'd wadded up copious quantities of the stuff and packed it around the weapon- -an incongruous arrangement that she now kind of regretted. She should have put it into a foam-bed case, but there hadn't been time. "I didn't want it sliding around the box."

His hand dipped into the box and brought the weapon out, holding the heavy gun easily, his trigger finger safely parallel to the barrel. "This is an M-15. Forty-five cal. Manufactured by Rock Island Arsenal. Walnut grips. This is an officer's weapon. This is a really _rare_ officer's weapon."

"I thought you'd like it. Because you have big hands." She immediately colored again. More deeply than before. "Not that I've noticed your hands- -but you're a large man- -I mean- -bigger than me- -and I figured you'd prefer a bigger weapon. Or something."

Out of habit more than anything else, he sniffed at it, then released the safety and, with deft efficiency, cycled the slide. "You cleaned it."

"Of _course_ I cleaned it. Although I've had it serviced most recently by the on-base armorer. I've had it for a while, though I've only put a few hundred rounds through it. It's not new- -but it's solid."

"You don't want it?"

"I want you to have it." Sam bit at her lip. "Unless you don't want it- -then I could get you whatever kind you'd like. Glock. Sig Sauer. Colt. Ruger. I've got a bit of a stash."

His expression was completely unreadable. His shuttered eyes moved between her face and the weapon in his hand.

"Or, we could go to the gun shop and you could pick your own." Sam concentrated on breathing. The sinking in her gut told her she'd made a colossal mistake, and she struggled to keep her already iffy composure. "I mean, I found this one at an estate sale years ago, and thought it was pretty special- -but if you'd prefer new"

"No. This is- -" He exhaled heavily, then released the slide with a satisfying 'snick' and flicked the safety back on. His eyes caught hers, and held them. His lips curled into a smile. "This is _perfect_."

Relief. Warm, sweet relief rushed through her, and she found herself smiling back. "The extra magazines are in the box. They're original; the serial numbers match. I loaded them for you. I never did have a holster for it. I kept it in my bag."

"Your bag." A glimmer of something new- -respect?- -chased through his features.

"Yeah. It's too big for me to conceal on-person. So, I just stashed it in whatever purse I was carrying."

"Helluva purse."

"Yes. I guess." She inhaled deeply, then indicated the box, still open, between them on the work bench. "So, we're even?"

His brows dipped slightly. "We were never uneven, Carter."

"I- -well- -you know what I mean."

He nodded. "I guess."

"And I've always hated that feeling of being- -beholden." She ran a finger along the sharp-ish cardboard edge of the container. "Of owing people."

She could tell instantly that he understood- -that in this thing they were in complete accord. Despite his initial concerns about her scientific background, they really did have more in common than one would initially think. Certain things- -their military service first and foremost- -had defined them in a way that other things couldn't. Over the past few months, her attitude towards him had changed- -morphing from her simply wanting to impress him with her prowess and skill to something more- -humanizing.

She didn't know how else to explain it. The more she knew the Colonel, the more intrigued she was by the man.

But this particular quirk was on her. She really just hated feeling like she was in someone's debt, no matter how deeply she lived in his pockets day by day. And so she shut the box with an air of finality and pushed it all the way towards his side of the table. "Then we're good."

The Colonel lifted the lid just enough to stow the weapon in its frothy nest and then secured it again. He was still staring down at the box when he said, "Captain- -you were _always_ good."

Dammit, but she was blushing again.

And dammit again, he'd noticed.

Sam shuffled a few things around on her workbench- -just for something to do. "So- -heading home?"

"Yes." He picked up his jacket in one hand and the box in the other. " You?"

"Yes." She switched the light off and then followed him as he headed towards the corridor outside her door. They took a few steps back in the direction of the elevator before she answered him. "I was going to pick up some Chinese first."

"Golden Canyon?"

They'd arrived at the twin doors. She pressed the button and then stepped back to stand at the Colonel's side. "I was thinking Ming's."

"I'm surprised you're not going for Mongolian BBQ."

On pure impulse, Sam leaned sidewise and nudged his shoulder with her own. "Funny."

He glanced at her before nudging back. "Golden Canyon has better egg rolls."

Sam inclined her head, considering. "True. But I prefer the Kung Pao at Ming's."

"Ah." The door opened and O'Neill paused to let her get in first. He watched as she punched the button for the surface. "Shrimp or chicken?"

"Both."

"A connoisseur."

"No, just indecisive."

"You?" He caught himself as the elevator jerked into motion. "That's a flagrant falsehood, Captain. You're too picky to be indecisive."

She pretended to be enthralled with the numbers changing on the display above the doors, not sure how to respond to that. "Anyhow, Ming's is closer to home."

"There's that."

The doors slid wide, and they stepped off, heading in companionable silence past the security checkpoint and out into the deepening evening light. To their right lay the parking lot, to the left, the gated formal entrance to the Mountain. O'Neill's truck sat in the furthest lane from the checkpoint, while Sam had parked her Volvo towards the front, and off to the far left. She paused. "I'm over there."

"That beast back there's mine." He cast her a look out of the corner of his eye. "So, see you tomorrow."

"Sure. Bright and early. Briefing at nine, right?"

"Okay, then."

"All right."

She turned, moving purposefully off towards her car, only to be pulled up short by footsteps moving up quickly behind her.

"Hey, Carter! Hold up!"

Pivoting, she watched as the Colonel neared her, then stopped a few yards away. "You said earlier that you had a 'stash'. Were you talking guns?"

She twisted her nose a little, unsure how to answer that without seeming like a bit of a fanatic. "I've got a collection."

"So, what. Five? Ten?"

She sighed, then scratched randomly at her nape. "A few dozen? Maybe more. I haven't counted them lately."

"Seriously?"

"They're shiny. And useful. And make things explode." She grinned, despite herself. "And it's fun making things explode."

"You know, most women are into things like shoes."

"C'mon, Sir." She folded her arms across her abdomen. "I'm not like most women."

It took a beat or two for him to answer. "No. No, you're not."

Suddenly, despite the cool of the eveninga sliding warmth made its way down her body to nestle in her center. She angled herself again in the direction of her car, mostly to hide the tremor that threatened. "Okay then. Goodnight."

"You know, you really didn't owe me anything, Captain."

She stopped, then turned yet again. "Sir?"

"Back on that planet. With the Mongols and the headgear and the dress and the Genghis Khan guy." His long strides ate up the ground between them. He stopped a few feet from her.

"What about it?"

"In our line of work, you don't often see something so- -pretty."

Confused, Sam narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Giving up that gun was small potatoes in comparison with just being able to watch you."

She made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a guffaw. "Yeah, like I had any say at all in wearing that blue dress get-up and the headdress from Hell."

"That was good, too." The Colonel grinned, remembering. "But I was talking about later on; when you kicked that warlord's butt in the hand to hand."

"What about it?"

"That little battle was a true thing of beauty. Skillful, precise, and perfect. Wish I had it taped. That fight, and the way you made the prehistoric weasel squirm, is the stuff of daydreams." His dark eyes surveyed her, appraising her- -more frankly than he had since the first time they'd met in the board room. His gaze returned to her face, capturing her full attention, even as a slow smile spread across his face. "And getting to witness that, Captain Samantha Carter, was payment enough. I didn't give up anything nearly as valuable."

She couldn't answer; there weren't words. And even if there were, she couldn't have made any noises move past the sudden dryness that had closed off her throat. She had to break eye contact so that she'd remember to breathe.

"Having said that," his voice invaded again, this time carrying something new- -an intimacy that she hadn't heard before, a tone that promised something that she couldn't quite identify. He took a few long strides backwards before raising the box he carried towards her in a kind of purposeful salute. "I'm still keeping the gun."


	2. Fire and Water

**Things Owed**

**Fire and Water**

_I've never really liked this episode, but there are some shippy moments in it (if you look really closely). Anyway, it's the next one that tickled the Muse, so here you go._

_And does anyone else ever suddenly crave Almond Roca while watching it? _

_It's probably just me._

SG-11 just needed to shut up already.

Their briefing had gone way past its expiration date, and Jack's already quirky patience had long since run its course.

He sat in the chair across from the General's desk, slumped, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his arms folded over his chest. Another glance at the clock on the wall told him he'd been waiting for forty-five minutes.

Waiting was a tricky thing. He'd only gotten semi-accustomed to it over the years. There were varying degrees of the process. Waiting a few minutes at a traffic light was at the painless end of the spectrum. Waiting for the 'Gate to open while a gaggle of hostile Jaffa fired staff weapons at you was a bit more of a problem. Waiting to speak to-and apologize to- -your Commanding Officer- -well, that constituted complete and utter torture.

He still didn't exactly remember the sequence of events. They'd 'Gated to the beachy planet with the lava cones everywhere, where they'd taken soil samples and checked out the joint. Gill-Faced Guy had arrived for a meet-and-greet, and that's where things got fuzzy. Afterwards, there had been a plethora of questions, tests, and doubts- -and then the memorial service and wake.

That's where things had gone completely nuts.

Jack had lost people before- -but losing Daniel had thrown him. Maybe it was the fact that his brain and his gut were telling him two diametrically opposing things, or maybe it was just that they'd been working too hard for too long, with the weight of the galaxy on their collective shoulders. Maybe he'd just begun to admit to himself that Daniel was a friend, only to have that friend horrifically immolated in front of him. That kind of thing tended to futz with your brain.

Brains that had already, apparently, been futzed with. Gill-Faced Guy had really done a number on their collective craniums.

Which accounted for the visions of bubbles and fire, without question. But Jack's actions- -well, those he was just owning up to. There were truly no excuses for what he'd done. He hadn't been on his game, and had lost, what? Perspective? Reality? Something unnamed and undefined. And he'd taken it out on the General's car.

Damn his luck. And his hockey stick.

"Well done, team." The General opened the briefing room door, standing back as SG-11 approached. "I expect to see a full report on my desk by Tuesday."

"You'll have it Monday, Sir." Major Cotter raised his thick file folder in a quasi-salute. "The mission was an overwhelming success, and I have confidence that things will work out."

"From your mouth to God's ears, Major." The General watched them go, then turned to where O'Neill still slumped in his chair. "Jack. I'm surprised to see you here."

Sighing deeply, the Colonel stood. "I'm kind of surprised to be here, General."

"I thought that I'd made my orders clear. You and the rest of your team needed some rest."

"We do." He nodded, then splayed a palm towards his CO. "And we are. Resting. At least, I am. I've been sitting on my generous rear and watching baseball all day long. Drank a little beer. Ordered a pizza. Scratched a little. Took a nap."

"Sounds like a wonderful day." Hammond moved past him, into his office, rounding his desk and standing behind his leather chair. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I- -uh- -have some business with _you_, actually." Jack stepped aside to allow the General into his office, and then turned towards the desk. He ran his tongue along the inside seam of his lips before dragging in a breath. "It seems I owe you some money."

Hammond smiled. "For the window?"

"And the dent."

"That's already been taken care of." The General pulled his chair out and sat, scooching around a bit until he was comfy. "I haven't given it a moment's thought for a while, now."

"Taken care of?"

"Paid in full. My car is as good as new."

Jack frowned. "No offense, Sir, but that car wasn't much good- -even when it _was_ new."

Hammond smiled, his shoulders given a little half-lurch. "Well, it's good enough for an old grandpa General. Might not be fancy, but she's paid for and gets me around."

"Ah, well." O'Neill grudgingly nodded. "That's what's important, anyway, right?"

"I would say so." Leaning forward, the older officer folded his hands together. "And, like I said before, it's as good as new."

Jack tilted a look at his CO. "I didn't make any arrangements. I didn't call anyone- -"

"Captain Carter approached me after the wake. She said that she'd be able to get the necessary repairs done quickly. I figured that you'd asked her to take care of it for you."

"Hm." The Colonel's lips drew thin. "No. No I did not ask that of her."

Hammond looked down at his hands for a beat before raising his gaze back up to Jack. "I think she was worried about you. You weren't quite yourself that day, if you recall."

Grudgingly, O'Neill had to agree. He hadn't been himself that day- -nor had he been himself until they'd returned to that hell of a beach and brought his friend home. "Yes, Sir. I do."

"But all's well that end's well, and no hard feelings, and all that." The General offered a smile. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to prepare for a phone conference with a Senate commission."

Dismissed. But still, Jack hesitated. Sighing, he squared his shoulders, his brows drawn low over his eyes. "The car and the dent and all. She really did that?"

"She did." Hammond touched the handset of his phone. "She's quite a young lady, and a hell of an officer."

O'Neill suppressed the smile that threatened, but he couldn't stop himself from feeling something else. Pride? It's not like he had anything to do with Carter being who she was. But still, there it was. A sense that she was, in some minute way, a part of who he was slowly becoming. "Yes. That she is."

-OOOOOOOO-

"Colonel O'Neill."

Jack turned to see Teal'c in the hallway behind him. The Jaffa's healthy stride ate up the yards between them.

"Teal'c." He stopped, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. "What'cha doing?"

"I have been participating in calisthenics, O'Neill." He indicated his gray sweat pants and tank top with a pass of his large hand. "As well as strengthening my body with weight-bearing exercise."

"So, what are you bench-pressing these days? A hundred pounds? Two?"

"I completed one hundred repetitions at four hundred and ninety pounds." He looked entirely too impressed with himself. "Tomorrow I shall attempt five hundred."

"Is that some kind of Jaffa record?"

Often, the eyebrow conveyed more than the Jaffa's facial expression, and this time was no exception. "I do not know. We do not have exercise equipment such as this on Chulak."

"Yeah, you guys probably just dead-lift trees. Or stacks of the bodies of your enemy."

Teal'c had recently started delving into the joys of sarcasm. "We find it most beneficial to bench-press small planetoids."

O'Neill grinned. "Funny."

"Indeed."

They'd walked towards the elevator shaft, and Teal'c pressed the button with the pad of his thumb. "I am making my way upstairs towards my quarters to shower. Would you care to accompany me?"

"Elevator, yes." O'Neill glanced up to see that the carriage had almost reached their floor. "Shower, no."

The doors slid upon with a wobbly "ding", and Teal'c took a long stride through the doors into the tiny gray room. "Was there somewhere specific you were heading, O'Neill?"

"Not really. I was actually kind of looking for you." The Colonel followed his teammate into the elevator.

Teal'c had already pivoted to face the doors. "Then how fortuitous that you have found me."

"Yep." O'Neill watched as the doors lurched to a close. "I'm just all kinds of lucky."

"And for what purpose am I needed?"

"I actually had a question about the wake."

"The unnecessary one which you hosted in honor of Daniel Jackson who was not, in fact, dead?"

"That one."

"What information do you require from me?"

The numbers on the display above the doors blinked as they changed. "Well, I was a little out of it."

"You had been consuming beer. I thought perhaps you had overindulged."

"No- -it was more than that. Nem- -that Gill-Faced alien guy- -messed around with our brains and I was a little screwed up. Things just hit the wall that day."

"And for this reason you attacked General Hammond's vehicle with your hockey accoutrement and then disappeared?"

"Disappeared?"

"I watched as you walked around the side of your home and then nobody saw you again until a day later, when you attended the meeting at Stargate Command."

With a little jolt, the elevator stopped, and O'Neill found himself scowling at the doors in silence. He didn't remember leaving the party. He figured he might have gotten a little plastered towards the end of it, because when he'd woken up, it was dark, and he was slumped against the wall on the upstairs deck next to his telescope.

"Captain Carter took charge of the event when it was realized that you'd gone. She made sure that there was enough food and drink and then bid farewell to the guests." Teal'c's shoulder brushed O'Neill's as he stepped out of the elevator. "It was understood by the assembled group that you had been called away on SGC business."

As the doors started to closed again, Jack reached out and held them open with a splayed palm on the door frame. "Not that I'd gone completely off my gourd and had run away like an idiot?"

"There was no mention of gourds nor idiots. She asked for my help in removing the refuse from the premises and was occupied with cleaning the kitchen when Sergeant Siler offered to drive me back to Cheyenne Mountain."

Ah- -things were finally starting to make sense. He'd descended from the deck and entered the house expecting to find a house mid-shambles, only to discover that it was perfectly clean- -neat as a pin. Fridge, cupboards, living room, outside patio- -hell, even the grill had been scrubbed clean. The only sign that the wake had taken place at all were the tidy packages of left-overs in the refrigerator.

"Was something amiss in your home, Colonel O'Neill?"

"No." He shook his head, then had to stiff-arm the elevator doors again. "No. It was perfect. Everything was perfect."

"Captain Carter wished to make your absence as unnoticed as possible, O'Neill."

"Apparently, she succeeded."

Teal'c's lips curled upward-he was working on his smiling technique. "Indeed, she did."

"Okay, then." Jack nodded. "Well. Go. Shower. I'll see you in the morning."

The golden tattoo glinted again as Teal'c dipped his chin in his customary bow. "I find myself most relieved that Daniel Jackson is alive and well and has rejoined us in the fight against the Goa'uld."

O'Neill studied his friend's face for a long moment, then, with a sharp sigh, released his hold on the elevator doors. He waited until the last possible second before answering. "Me too, T."

-OOOOOOO-

It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust, but after they did, he spotted her immediately.

She was the only woman at the bar. Her hair, more than anything else, though, had given her away. He'd found lately that he could pinpoint it in a crowd. It drew him like a shiny, tousled beacon even through the dark, musty dank of the establishment. Jack stopped halfway across the room, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he considered his next move.

He hadn't meant to end up here, had he? Hadn't really been looking for her, right? Jack wasn't certain he really wanted an answer to either of those questions. Admitting anything of the sort would mean things that he refused to put words to. It would be easier if he'd just have ended up here. Found her by accident. Coincidence. Kismet. Karma. Whatever the hell any of those things were.

Of course, it would be easier to explain this away if this bar were anywhere near his own neighborhood, but-yeah. No luck there, either.

He'd left Cheyenne Mountain over an hour ago, and had been aimlessly meandering his way homeward ever since. If he really were to be honest with himself, he'd admit that he really hadn't wanted to go home. The empty there had been deafening, lately- -as if the silence were screaming at him. It made relaxation a little fleeting, and sleep had become- -difficult.

It was mid-afternoon; the traffic wasn't horrific yet, and he'd ended up wandering further than he'd intended to. It had been a complete surprise to discover he'd gotten himself to her side of town, hadn't it? So, aiming his big truck into her picturesque little neighborhood just seemed more friendly than anything else. Getting to know you. Teammate bonding. He'd driven by her house- -he'd even stopped and stared at it for a while- -but it had only gazed back at him with dark, lifeless windows. She hadn't been home.

How he'd known that just by staring at her house, he couldn't tell. He'd developed some kind of sixth sense about Sam Carter lately. No different, really, than he had with others of his past teams. It's just that this particular awareness extended past mission space-time and seemed to be on constant full-alert.

Maybe it was because she was the first woman he'd had on a permanent team? Or perhaps it was her youthful enthusiasm. Or the way she peered at him from under the ridiculous helmets she wore, something like a blue-eyed turtle who was too smart for her own good. Perhaps it was the fact that she'd become the "big sister" of the group-taking care of things that nobody else bothered to think about. Like the individually wrapped packets of Oreos she'd produced out of her pack back on P69-whatever that time when the dinner they'd been invited to had been accompanied by _actual_ dirt. Or the extra socks she kept stashed in the bottom of her pack because he invariably stepped in something disgusting while off-world. Or the Kleenex she kept in resealable baggies because Daniel always just shoved some tissues in his pocket and they invariably got ruined by the lightest sprinkle.

Whatever it was, she'd gotten annoyingly-_or was it wonderfully?-_under his skin.

Jack took a step to the side as a group of guys headed past him towards the exit. His hip bumped up against a pool table and he looked over to see if he'd upset a game, but only a few balls littered the felt, and nobody stood around glaring at him, so he figured he was good to go. He lingered, positioning himself to one side of a beam and propping himself against the scuffed wood of the table.

"She never talks to anyone."

Jack craned his head to look over his left shoulder. A tall guy stood there-dirty blond hair and some powerful chin stubble. The pool cue in his hand had been recently chalked. He'd apparently been playing at the table alone.

"Never talks, huh?"

"To anyone." The guy tilted the end of his cue towards Carter in a move that reminded O'Neill of Teal'c and his staff weapon. "She comes in every once in a while, sits in that seat, and has a Diet Coke. Doesn't even eat the peanuts. Just the soda. Then she leaves."

"Maybe she just wants some privacy."

"Stupid place to come for privacy, if you ask me." Five O'clock Shadow shrugged. "Hot chick like that oughta give a guy a break once in a while."

"Hot chick, huh?"

"With a tidy little a-"

"Watch it." Jack squelched his new friend with his best 'colonel' look. "Have some respect."

"Oh- -we all respect her. Guy got a little too close one time and she took him out with the sexiest right hook. She earned her stripes on that one."

"Stripes?"

"Military term." Stubble Guy ducked his chin in a sage gesture, then raised his hand, his fingers forming a frame on his sleeve just below his shoulder. "Sergeants wear these stripes on their uniforms."

"Yeah." Jack nodded. "I've heard of that."

"So, after that, nobody has bugged her."

"Smart crowd."

The pool cue dipped again towards the blond hair at the bar. "Anyway, friend. If you're into her, good luck. But I've warned you. You probably won't get too far."

Passing Stubble Guy what he hoped was a brotherly smirk, O'Neill pushed away from the pool table and headed towards the bar.

She was staring at her drink, working on framing it between her hands, which were splayed on the counter in front of her. She'd neatened up the area around her-squaring up her coaster with her napkin- -a move that was so "Carter" that Jack cracked a smile. Sliding in between her seat and the one next to hers, he leaned one elbow on the bar.

"Hey, Captain."

She looked up, her eyes flying wide in recognition. "Sir. What are you doing here?"

"I was driving around and saw your Volvo in the parking lot."

"How'd you know it was mine?"

"I'm Special Forces, Captain. I'm just _that_ good."

She mouthed a silent 'Oh'.

He took that for what it was worth. Not quite an indication she believed him, and certainly not an answer to her original question, but enough for now. "Anyhow, I was out and about, saw your car and decided to come in and see what you were doing tonight."

"Well, nothing, really, Sir." She reached out with her left hand and cupped her glass of soda as if it were her anchor. "I just wanted to grab a drink before heading home. It's been that kind of a week."

"A drink?" His voice held a hint of sarcasm. "Usually, when someone grabs a 'drink' before heading home, a principal ingredient of that beverage is something with more oomph than caffeine."

The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "Actually, Sir, I'm not much of a drinker."

"Which would be obvious to anyone who has seen you swill moonshine with the Abydonians."

"Sir." Her 'Big Sister' tone crept into her voice. "Should we really be- -"

"Oh, C'mon, Captain." He jerked his ear towards the milling throng around them. "Who's listening? And besides. Grizzly Adams back there issued me something of a challenge to get past the introductory stage with you."

Carter peered around the Colonel's arm, then straightened with a sigh. "Yeah. I know him. He's harmless. A little pushy, but harmless."

"A lot obnoxious?"

She grinned outright, then swiveled so that she fully faced him. "Something like that."

"Anyhoo." Jack relaxed a little, leaning more heavily onto the elbow he'd perched on the bar. It was easy to talk to her this way- -_too_ easy, if truth be told. He'd been surrounding himself with the whole team lately rather than being alone with anyone in particular- -not even realizing he was doing it. And before, he couldn't have explained why he'd been doing it if he tried. With a jolt, he realized that it was this- -this more-than-simple-awareness -that surged through him at her nearness that was making those decisions for him. It was self-preservation. Even if she was too young and eager. Even if he was old and edging ever-nearer to the 'decrepit' stage. Or perhaps _because_ of those two facts. It wasn't something he was willing to analyze, anyway. Because there was nothing there, right? What was there to analyze? "So, are you committed to this place, or do you want to go have some real fun?"

She actually considered her answer, a fact that amused Jack as much as it confused him. They were friends, right? Teammates. What was there to think about?

"What did you have in mind?"

He leaned in a little closer. "Well, since I owe you one, I thought I'd take you someplace where we could blow off some steam."

Her brows drew down over those luminous eyes. "You owe me one?"

"C'mon, Captain." His own eyes issued a challenge. "What do you say?"

Her brain worked furiously for a moment before a single dimple appeared in her right cheek. This time, the question felt different. "What did you have in mind?"

-OOOOOOOO-

It was deserted- -not surprising for after dark on a weeknight.

She'd followed him from the bar, and parked next to his truck on the gravel lot next to the field. He'd reached into the bed of his Superduty and pulled out a long canvas sack as she'd locked her Volvo.

"You've got a headlight out."

"Do I?" She glanced over her shoulder at her car, then offered a half-hearted shrug. "Something's always going wrong with that thing. I should probably trade it in and get something newer. Especially if I'm not going to be on Earth much."

"It's a headlight. Not the head gasket." He gave the Volvo a good look-over. "It's a beautiful car."

"It is." Carter nodded, following his gaze to her car. "It's just like the one my mom had."

Ah. "Then keep it. Find something else for everyday."

"Mmm." Non-committal, Sam's answer was vague at best. Something passed through her expression, something akin to indecision mixed with a healthy dose of nostalgia. She turned her attention back to her CO. "So, why are we here?"

"Fun." O'Neill lifted the bag in the direction of the field adjacent to the lot where they'd parked. "I owe you some fun."

She studied him for a long, long beat, then blinked. Deliberately. "Okay."

Jack decided not to try to interpret that. Instead, he started walking towards the field. "C'mon, Carter. Let's go whack something besides Jaffa."

It was a community soccer pitch, open to the public and lit until closing by a few underwhelming banks of tall stadium lights. Far to the south of the pitch, a grouping of basketball courts boasted their own sets of overheads, currently illuminating dozens of people milling around the baskets, both playing and merely observing. Every once in a while, when the wind blew right, their voices carried across the park towards the soccer field. To the east, a pair of fenced baseball diamonds completed an awkward triangle with the other two sports arenas, and directly in the center of them all sat a well-worn playground. Dark, deserted, the jungle gym and other apparatus sat lifeless except for the pair of swings lazily dancing in the evening breeze.

Recent rains had stepped in where the lack of municipal funding for decent irrigation had failed, and the grass that stretched from goal to goal- -while dry- -lay green and sweet and lithe. O'Neill walked across the field towards the closest goal, his shoes making deep indentations in the fecund turf. He could hear Carter walking just behind him, her strides as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

Just inside the penalty area, Jack stopped. Hefting the gear bag off his shoulder, he eased it to the ground and then knelt to pull the zipper wide. Reaching in, he pulled out a long, curved implement and a small rubber ball. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he looked up from his crouched position to see Carter standing a few feet away, a quizzical frown on her face.

"Have you ever played hockey?"

"Yeah. Once. Maybe twice." Sam had pulled her denim jacket on against the chill that had come with the now-set sun. "My brother played a little when we were stationed at Edwards in Palmdale. My dad used to help- -you know, give him pointers on swinging the stick and stuff."

"And did it?" Jack handed her a stick and a ball, and then chose another one out of the bag. As he stood, he grabbed a few more rubber balls. "Help, I mean."

She hefted the hockey stick, judging its balance. "Um-no. My dad's a decent General, but not-so-great at sports."

"And you?" Jack watched as Carter took an experimental swipe with the hockey stick across the grass. "Were you into sports?"

"Not really." Sam shook her head, the iffy light from the stadium towers catching in the gold of her hair. "My mom wanted me to be a ballerina, so I danced for a while. After she died, my dad didn't really have the time to take me to rehearsals and private lessons anymore, so- -"

"So, the dancing stopped."

Her nod carried a taste of sadness. "A lot of things stopped after my mom died. But hey. What do you say about dwelling?"

"That you shouldn't."

"And what was it that you've been saying about fun?"

"That I owed you some."

She quirked a brow at him and made a little motion towards the goal with her hockey stick. "So, show me some fun."

Jack took a few steps towards the penalty box arc, then dropped his ball into the center of it. "Hockey is, by definition, the most perfect game on Earth."

"Okay." She didn't sound convinced. She didn't sound unconvinced, either. She sounded like she was humoring him, but that was acceptable.

"The beauty of it is, if you don't have ice, you can play on the street, or the dirt, or in grass."

"Gotcha."

"And you don't have to use a puck, because the fun of hockey is just in hitting stuff."

"So, it's an aggression thing."

He felt a smile. "Basically." He stood to one side of ball. "There are all kinds of rules to the actual game, but when I need to just hit something, I like to come out here and hit the ball into the goal." He aligned himself and staged his grip. Drawing back his arms, he lobbed the ball directly into the net with a satisfying "thwack!"

She looked moderately impressed. "So, you just hit the crap out of it."

"Basically. There is a little finesse to it if you're actually in game-play." O'Neill gestured with the end of his stick at the still-wavering goal net. "If you're just out here to hit stuff, then you go at it hard and have fun."

Sam stepped forward, waiting as he moved aside before plunking her ball in the dent his had so recently vacated. She squared up her stance, taking a few practice swings with her stick before settling onto her heels. The dimples in her cheeks deepened as she drew her lips into a determined line. "Here goes."

She hauled back on her stick and hacked at the ball, missing by a good inch and whiffing it entirely. Her entire body turned with the force of her swing, and she stumbled forwards a few steps, tried to catch her balance with a solid stride, and ended up tripping on the ball and landing flat on her face in the deep turf.

He tried not to smile. Then he just went ahead and did it, anyway. "Okay- -so I lied."

She rolled over, flopping dramatically. "Let me guess. There's one rule to this?"

"Just the one." A few strides had him at her side. Jack crouched down at her side. "Don't fall down."

Sam glared up at him. "Well, you could have told me that sooner, Sir."

"I'll make sure to put it in the report." He watched as she raked her fingers through her mussed hair. "With bullet points."

"Bullet points." She looked up at him, an odd smile gracing her features. "That's funny."

In the meager light, her eyes seemed to shine even brighter, and color stained her cheeks. Jack couldn't tell if that was from embarrassment or exhilaration, a fact that intrigued him. Off-world, she would have popped right back up, ready to go again, but here, on Earth, without anyone- -or anything- -chasing them, she seemed happy to simply lie in the grass and take a breather. Every muscle in O'Neill's body wanted to lie down next to her in the grass and breathe along.

There was that danger thing, again.

Jack ducked his chin, feeling his humor wane. "So, you want to try again?"

"What, and ruin my perfect record?" She half-heartedly felt around with one hand for her stick, then gave up and put the hand behind her head, instead. "Sir?"

He stood, ostensibly to retrieve her lost hockey stick. "Yeah, Carter?"

"You said earlier that you owed me one."

"What about it?"

"What did you mean by that?"

The wood and tape of the stick felt alien in his hand- -more so than a staff weapon would have. He ran the pad of his thumb along the edge of a piece of loose taping. It was a talisman, of sorts, something to bring him back to the reality of the present. "Well, there's the General's car, for one."

"The window?"

Jack pretended an intense interest in trying to rectify the sagging tape. He glanced at her before he formed a reply. "He told me that you'd gotten it fixed."

"It was really no big deal. I have a friend who has a body shop. He owed me for helping him switchout a tricky alternator."

"I guess he goes by your code of ethics?"

"Excuse me?" Her eyes narrowed.

His eyes flickered over her just long enough to be sure she understood him. "You don't like owing people."

"I guess." She moved her shoulders in what might have been a shrug. "He's a good guy. Solid, you know?"

O'Neill knew. He rested the curved end of the stick on one of his feet. "And the wake thing? The cleaning and the hostessing?"

"Hostessing?" That grin resurfaced, as Sam bent her knees, bring her heels in towards her body. "You're making me sound like a sorority chick named 'Tiffani'."

Tilting his toe upward, Jack balanced the stick on the leather of his shoe. "You know what I mean."

He pretended not to notice that she was studying him, that her humor had morphed into a sudden, serious scrutiny. He tried not to imagine what she must be thinking of him- -of her CO who couldn't even make it through a simple get-together without losing his mind and taking it out on an innocent Buick.

Tried not interpret why it mattered what she was thinking.

_Damn. And damn again._

Sam brought herself up to a sitting position, her legs crossed beneath her. "It wasn't a big deal, Sir."

The hockey stick suddenly felt like an anvil on his toe. "To me, it was."

The basketball crowd had gotten louder, and somebody had added a boom box to the mix. The breeze had picked up enough that more of the commotion carried through the night air across the park, but Sam's attention didn't waver from him, a fact that made the Colonel even more uncomfortable. She simply sat there, in the grass, gazing up at him with the patience of the divine.

"When Daniel died- -"

"But he really hadn't."

"Yeah- -I know." Jack held up a palm, his fingers wide, when he saw she was going to interrupt him again. "Hold on. When we thought he was, and we had that wake thing."

"What about it?"

"I kind of- -bailed." He finished lamely, his voice cracking like a middle-schooler's. "I don't know what was wrong. It was just- -I couldn't- -"

"You were distraught over losing a friend, Sir. You've known Daniel the longest. Your grief was stronger than the rest of ours."

He snorted. "It was a little more than that. But regardless, I went a little wacko and beat the crap out of Hammond's car, and then disappeared."

"It was understandable, Sir."

"It was childish. And stupid."

"Sir."

That admonition again. When had that word started sounding like something else?

"And then I find out that you'd cleaned up my mess. Fixed what I'd screwed up." Jack's tongue passed along the inner crease of his lips. "I owe you something."

With the grace he'd come to expect of her, Sam stood, brushing loose grass of her pants. She neared him, then stopped a breath away, staring downward at the hockey stick still perched on his toe. "Sir, you truly don't owe me anything. You were there when I needed you through this whole thing. You helped me more than I helped you."

Jack's brows lowered at his frown. "What are you talking about?"

"After the hypnosis thing." Her face tilted up towards him. "It was horrific to be confronted by all those images again. I panicked and could feel myself unraveling. It wasn't like anything I'd ever felt before. Like I was completely helpless and out of control."

"And you don't like losing control."

"Not so much." Shaking her head, Sam offered a lady-like grunt. "No."

Finally, O'Neill looked at her directly, felt her searching him, her entire attention on him. Recognizing that the awareness-the intrigue-went both ways felt freeing, somehow. "I understand that."

"I know." Simple, her nod was straightforward. Her hand came up to rest just below his on the hockey stick. "And you were there for me. You- -brought me back."

"It was nothing." Which was a blatant lie. He hadn't been able to help himself. He'd held her. He'd _needed_ to protect her in whatever way he could. That other people were watching had been a complete non-issue. She'd been so distraught, so damned terrified- -he'd been able to feel her frantic heart beat as she'd tried to bury herself in him. It had been beyond natural to hold her, to comfort her. Her body had trembled beneath his hands, even as she'd tucked her face into his throat, her breath hot and quick against his skin. She'd fit there perfectly. Their bodies like two halves of the same dysfunctional coin.

He could still feel her there. Still feel her heat. Like he could feel her hand now, her fingers teasing at the loose tape on the hockey stick, tingling against his thumb. "It might not have seemed like anything to you, but it was important to me."

"Same here." Jack's eyes watched her hand, as she tried to smooth the tape back into place. "About the wake and everything else."

"Maybe it's just what friends do." She peered up at him from beneath her messy bangs. "Help each other out when the crap hits the fan?"

Something tightened inside him. He dragged in a long sigh, trying to ease whatever had knotted. He felt constricted-as if reality had closed something ephemeral within a cage. "Friends."

"Yeah." Her fingers stalled on the stick, then brushed one more time over the action-roughened wood and fraying tape. "Friends."

The lights overhead offered little more light than the stars, and the sounds from the basketball courts had once again faded as the wind had shifted towards the west. The air around them felt close, and dark, and buffeting. Intimate. Still focused on the hockey stick, Jack tightened his own fingers around the squared shaft, even as Carter's fingers stopped fidgeting, making one final swipe before dropping completely away.

It felt like a loss, somehow, even when he'd never had anything to claim as his own in the first place.

"So." The Captain took a step backwards, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Maybe I'm not so great at the hockey thing."

"It was your first time." He turned away from her, towards the gear bag lying behind him on the grass. Bending, he stowed her hockey stick and the ball he still held in his hand. When he looked up again, she stood next to him, with the ball she'd retrieved from the goal and the other stick. "You'll improve."

"I'm thinking it might not be my sport."

He zipped the now-full bag back up, throwing the straps over his shoulder as he stood. "Oh?"

"I mean, I failed pretty spectacularly, didn't I?" She followed easily when he set back across the grass towards the parking area. "Face planting and all."

"You're lucky that you weren't on the ice."

"I'd probably have broken something."

Grass made way for dirt, and then the cheap gravel of the parking area. O'Neill hefted the bag back into the bed of his Superduty as Carter stopped near the tailgate, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her denim jacket.

"Wouldn't have been too bad." Levity- -Jack needed some levity. "Your nose. Maybe lost a few teeth."

"Hey- -that doesn't sound too terrible."

Pivoting, O'Neill faced her. "A veritable cake walk."

Sam grinned, a little wistful smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Anyway, I won't be the next Gretsky."

"Maybe not." Awkwardness. Jack scuffed at the gravel with his shoe. "I'm sorry about wasting your night- -this was a stupid idea."

"No." Sam reached out and touched his arm. "No. It was really nice of you think about me, Colonel. It's always so hard to figure out where people are in a group- -if that makes any sense. This whole situation actually made me feel like I was part of something more than just a team. Like- -I don't know- -a family or something."

"A family. And I'm, what? The Crazy Uncle?"

She laughed outright at that. "No. Of course not. No."

"Senile grandpa."

"Sir."

"Well, whatever. As long as I'm invited to Thanksgiving, I won't complain."

"Always." She bit her lip. "You're always welcome. I'll make sure there's plenty of pie and everything."

Of course she'd take care of everything. Just like the socks and the Kleenex and the snacks. Just like the window and the dent and the left-overs. Just like she'd volunteered to undergo the hypnosis thing and had tried to make Gill-Face Guy understand that SG-1 only wanted to be friends.

Just like she stood in front of him now, making him feel as if his debt to her had been paid even when his ledger had only gotten longer.

"At least let me pay for the window."

"Sir, really. There's nothing to pay. I pulled it from a junker."

Of course she had. O'Neill sighed. "Okay, then. I guess we're good."

"Yeah." Carter took a step backwards, and then another. "See you tomorrow?"

"Bright and early."

"Well, early at least." She tilted her head to one side with a plaintive smile. Her hand rose in a little wave. "See you later, Sir."

"G'night, Sam."

With quick, efficient steps, she rounded the front of the Volvo and slipped inside. It only took a moment for the engine to purr to life and another for her to back out of the parking lot and make her way towards the highway.

Alone again.

Jack watched as the Volvo glided into the night, staring into the darkness long after he'd lost sight of her tail lights. He leaned back against the gate of his truck, heaving a deep sigh. It was late, but he couldn't go home- -had no desire to go back to his house where the silence loomed. Pushing away from the truck, he meandered back towards the soccer field. Back across the park and towards the goal. Back to the deep, lush grass. Back to the penalty box, where he could still see the deep indentation of where she'd lain smiling, easy, and relaxed.

The crowds on the basketball courts had dispersed, and the breeze no longer carried their noise across the park. As he stood there, a tight clicking noise echoed through the air, and the lights suddenly blinked off, shuttering the entire park in darkness. A quick glance around told him he was completely alone.

Far, far in the distance, tiny pinpricks of light cut through the night- -houses, and cars, and streetlights- -but the stars overhead flickered even more brightly. The park was blanketed in quiet, the pitch, and the courts, and the fields deserted, the grass cool and sweet at his feet. He sat himself next to the spot where Sam had fallen, lowering himself until he lay next to the place where she had lain. Stretching his long legs into the turf, Jack folded his arms behind his head and looked up into the black of the sky, half-heartedly counting stars.

How the hell had his life come to this? How had he come to live this strange half-life- -dividing his existence between fighting demons on other planets and wrestling the demons surging within him? How did a guy justify it all- -balance it all out? Align the military with the man? Deal with the repercussions of alien viruses and thousand-year-old Gill-Faced guys changing stuff inside your head, while still paying your bills and buying groceries?

There weren't any answers. No instruction manuals. No help-desks. Just this night, and these stars, and the grass beneath him, and the lingering traces of the woman who seemed to be able to help him make sense of it all. So, for now he'd just stare up at the sky and try to figure out how to live. How to be part of the odd family he'd formed. How to _not_ want more than was allowed or offered. How to take it one day, one step, one second at a time. How to exist normally within the chaotic ridiculousness that his life had become.

So, for now, he'd lie here and breathe.

And try not to wish that she were there, in the grass, breathing next to him.


	3. Hathor

**Things Owed**

**Hathor**

_So, I've been working and parenting and trying to squeeze time out of my day to write, and realized last night that I have completely neglected my goal of replying to reviews. Thank you all SO much for responding so wonderfully to my "return". I will carve out moments here and there to thank you privately. _

_I promise. _

_ After all, I owe you. ;)_

If there were a ledger involved in this, he'd be WAY in the red.

He owed Carter big this time. Bounced check-like. Mortgage-like. No-_National Debt_-like-'owed her'.

It'd take far more than that lame hockey thing to pay back the favor this time.

Jack leaned back in his chair, stretching in an awkward yawn before scrubbing at his face with a splayed hand. Hours. It had been hours that he'd been sitting here, on his butt, watching the footage.

The intensely uncomfortable footage.

The horrendously awful footage.

The most terrible footage of all footage ever taken by security cameras ever in the history of humanity. _Ever_.

Or, at least in the history of the SGC.

And there were _hours_ of it. Hours and hours and hours. The videotapes on Jack's desk were stacked like his own private Monument Valley, piled in awkward towers like the legendary Southwestern sandstone buttes. Unwatched videos piled up on his left, and labeled, annotated cassettes loomed high on his right. He'd been tasked with going over the more sensitive tapes, gathering what information he could from the videos. So, he'd been logging activities and times, possible breaches of protocol and security, and indicating the parties involved in said breaches for the better part of two days, and there was no end in sight. If there was a worse job at the SGC, he honestly couldn't think what it could be.

Because the tapes were disgusting on one end and disturbing on the other, and quite likely to quell any future thoughts that he might ever have of dating again.

Now that he knew who - or what - was out there.

The thought was enough to make him lose his lunch, if he'd eaten lunch in the first place. But he'd started off this morning with some footage taken in the locker room on the last day of the - what would you call it - siege? Take-over? Infestation? He'd watched the snake-queen as she'd lowered herself into the hot water, laying back against the back of the tub for a moment before submerging completely. And then she'd - what - spawned? Even in black and white, the undulating water had darkened as the larval Goa'ulds had started popping up to the surface and thrashing around. Cringing, Jack had turned a little green watching as Hathor had emerged from the Jacuzzi - mostly because he knew that, outside of the camera's view, his own lifeless self was hanging out next to the tub, all pouched up and ready for a larva of his own. The bagel he'd had for breakfast had tickled his tonsils for the rest of the morning. He'd had to go back to hallway tapes, logging random passers-by, completely innocuous and not spew-inducing, just to allow his gut time to adjust.

So it was wisdom on his part to soldier through the footage rather than to stop to eat. Even so, when he'd arrived at the film-captures from the guest quarters, he'd dry-heaved his way through watching Daniel do the nasty with their new "friend". The camera angle in the guest quarters had been ideal, in a sick kind of a way. The view, freakishly perfect. Ultimately, feeling like the biggest of wusses, O'Neill had ended up covering his eyes with both hands and humming during the more pertinent bits, even though there wasn't audio with the video. He'd peeked through the slit between his fingers only long enough to see exactly how the lamp had gotten knocked over.

There were just some things that, once seen, couldn't be un-seen. He needed some brain bleach. Or a lobotomy. Or something. Because that was just - well, words failed.

One thing was certain, though: Jack would never - _ever_- be able to look at Daniel from behind again.

The tape currently in the VCR clicked to an end, and Jack pressed the 'eject' button with the pad of his thumb. He'd already filled out adhesive labels with the camera number and the pre-determined code number for the tape, and it just took a moment to attach the stickers to the cassette. Then he ripped the yellow lined paper on which he'd been taking notes off the pad and wrapped it around the tape, securing it with a thick rubber band.

Picking up the next tape, he glanced at the temporary tag on it, jotting down its identification code on his legal pad before inserting the black plastic box into the VCR. He instantly recognized the room. Even in black and white, the flags in the General's office were unmistakable, and Hammond's neat desk gleamed. Movement at the top of the screen drew O'Neill's attention, and he watched as Hathor and an airman entered the room. Jack quickly noted the time and then glanced back up to identify the soldier; a task made more difficult because the angle of the camera cut off everything above the man's neck. There was some talking, inaudible, of course, and then the Goa'uld moved in towards the unlucky sod, her fingers making short work of the buttons on his shirt.

Oh, crap.

The Colonel's hand shot out and whacked the "pause" button. On the screen, the grainy video hovered over a single image - Hathor's hands, pushing back the edges of the airman's shirt. Jack shut his eyes, then cracked them open again, peering through his own revulsion at the picture flickering back at him.

_Oh, holy crap._

He recognized that shirt. That chest. That moment.

It had been his own last breath of near-lucidity. The final minutes just before Hathor's hypno-drug had overcome him completely. And he could still feel it - the lust-terror he'd felt as she'd caressed his body and then removed her bustier to reveal the device she wore underneath. Jack recalled trying to remember that he didn't want what she was offering, trying to push away from Her Highness and doing something - anything - other than stand there and allow her to do what she'd done. But even through the pain and the horrifying disgust he'd felt, the drugged portion of his muddled brain had believed her words.

_"You will come to enjoy the long life and health you will receive from being Hathor's first new Jaffa."_

Pushing away from the desk, Jack shot to his feet, whirling away from the screen and its galling reminders. Behind him, innocuous Air Force posters adorned the cement walls, taunting him with their kitschy recruiting slogans. With a sick grunt, O'Neill cast an accusatory glare at the framed art. At no time had any recruiter ever told him he'd be felt up by a 4,000 year old alien with a god complex, nor that he would be in danger of being made into a human incubator.

If he'd been properly informed, he may have rethought his career choices.

He braced one hand on his side, clamping the other hand over his eyes and willing his body to compose itself. Concentrating on deep breathing, Jack forced his hands not to whip open his shirt just to check - to make certain for the ump-teenth time - that his abdomen no longer resembled that of a marsupial.

The slight squeak to his left startled him, and he jumped to one side, whirling instinctively to face the new danger.

"Jack?"

A familiar voice came from the doorway. O'Neill breathed out a sigh of relief. "You could knock, you know."

"I, uh -" Daniel peered around the office door, his fingers thumping on the edge in a brief tattoo. "I did, actually. You didn't answer."

"You did?"

Nodding, Daniel moved the rest of his body around the door. "And you didn't answer."

Jack threw a hand towards the apparatus on the desk at the other side of the office. "I was kind of occupied."

The lenses of Jackson's glasses caught at the light emanating from the screen as his gaze flickered towards the TV and then back to Jack. "Are you still watching those security videos?"

"Apparently so."

"Why?" Daniel folded his arms across his chest.

"Because I've got a pile over there that would fill the Grand Canyon. I take it that you didn't have as many?"

"Wow." Brows rising, the archaeologist shook his head a little. "I only had a dozen or so. Sam was asked to help run DNA samples with Dr. Frasier, and so Teal'c took hers to review. But he only had a few more than I did. I wonder why you have so many of them."

"Because God hates me, that's why."

"Which one? The traditional one or the red-haired one with the glowing eyes?"

Jack glared at his teammate. "Take your pick, 'Our Beloved'."

"Ouch. But it's okay. I expected this. Tease away. I know I'm not going to live this one down anytime soon."

"Or - ever." Banter. This would help. Jack shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "After all, you were the first to fall."

"True." Looking down at his arm, Daniel busied himself fixing a sleeve that had come unfolded. "But you were her first Jaffa."

Jack's stomach lurched again, but he tamped down his reaction and feigned disinterest. "At least I didn't sleep with her."

"Contributed the code." Daniel looked up from his sleeves. "I merely contributed DNA."

O'Neill's lip twitched, then he snapped his fingers in his friend's direction in a faux 'aha!' moment. "So that's what the kids are calling it these days."

Daniel snorted. "Sad thing is, that's the first action I've gotten in ages, and I don't even remember it. Although - that's probably a _good_ thing, right?

"Well, if you're interested, I've got it all on tape."

Behind his lenses, Daniel's eyes flew wide. "You mean, it got recorded?"

"The whole shebang." Jack tilted his head towards the desk, his lips thinning in a quasi-smile. "So to speak."

"The entire - um - episode?" His voice cracking slightly, Dr. Jackson grimaced. "All of it?"

"Yes, Daniel." Nodding, O'Neill rocked forwards on the toes of his boots. "Start to finish. Beginning to end. First kiss to afterglow."

"Good grief." Daniel scrubbed at his cheek with the palm of his hand. "That's really - um - disturbing."

"Yes. Yes it was."

"And you watched it all?"

"Even better. I took notes."

"Oh, for the love of Pete." Turning to fully face the desk, Daniel glared at the piles of tapes there. "Any chance we could accidentally-on-purpose destroy the cassette?"

"Not a chance, Beloved." Moving around Daniel, Jack stopped just behind his chair, resting his forearm on the back. "That puppy's going to the archives."

"So, it's preserved forever."

"Shouldn't you be happy about that? I mean - you're the history buff and all."

"Yeah. Funny thing about that. Most times, it's not necessarily my history that I'm interested in preserving."

"Tough break."

"Oh well. I supposed it's part of our story, right?" A wry smile played around the corners of Daniel's mouth. He moved closer to the desk, reaching out and snagging one of tapes that Jack had finished watching. Folding back the paper, he scanned what he could see of it. "'First contact'? What's that mean?"

"Hathor's appearance at the security checkpoint. Her first contact with the SGC." O'Neill absently scratched at the back of his neck. "I fast-forwarded through most of that one."

"Couldn't you do that with a lot of them? I mean - most of what happened was confined to a few rooms on the base, right?"

"I wish." Jack snorted, taking the video from Daniel and placing it back on the tower he'd created. "She pretty much drugged everyone except for the women and Teal'c. There were airmen pulling all sorts of stunts all over this place. A crew of non-coms had amassed a stockpile of weapons and explosives in one of the MALP bays. The topside crew was working with the motor pool to weaponize all the Hum-Vees, and the MPs had formed security patrols that were preparing to go in search of more foot soldiers in the surrounding communities, among other plans."

"Did Sam and Dr. Frasier really seduce their way out of lock-up?"

O'Neill hadn't reviewed those tapes, but he'd heard about the incident. Nodding, he passed a knowing look towards his friend. They'd both seen their teammate take down the Genghis Khan guy, a sight that Jack would mentally cherish for years to come. "From what I heard, those guys will have pounding heads for a week."

Daniel chortled, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "So to speak."

Despite himself, Jack grinned. "Potty humor. I'm impressed, Dr. Jackson."

"Hey. I might be a high-faluting scientist, but I'm still a guy." Daniel shrugged, still smiling.

"Yes." Jack nodded once. Emphatically. "So I have witnessed."

His smile dimming somewhat, Daniel reached out and grabbed a random tape from the top of one of the multitudinous stacks on O'Neill's desk. "Anyhow. We all should give credit where credit is due. Sam and Janet deserve the commendations that they're being nominated for. Without them, this base would be some sort of a Goa'uld hive by now. I can't imagine what would have happened if Sam hadn't kept her head on her shoulders."

Nodding in mock-seriousness, Jack offered an overzealous frown. "You'd have half-Daniel Goa'uldlets implanted in all sorts of people by now."

"Ugh." Daniel tapped absently on he tape he held, then shook his head and leaned a hip on the edge of the desk. "Sam and Janet deserve more than just the commendations. They truly did save the world."

"You're telling me." Jack folded his arms on the back of the chair, bending over until he was resting his chin on his forearm. Visions of a ledger dripping in red ink flashed across his mind. "At this rate, I'm going to owe her forever."

"Owe her?"

O'Neill looked up at Daniel, meeting his gaze fully. "Hasn't she told you?"

"Told me what?"

Pausing, Jack frowned, contemplating the meaning of that.

He'd been endeavoring not to think about her much since the evening on the soccer pitch, recognizing that whatever it was that drew him to Sam Carter couldn't possibly end well. So, he'd been trying to detach lately, attempting to treat her like anyone else that he dealt with on a daily basis. Like she held no more fascination to him than Siler, or that little dude that called out the dialing chevrons, or hell - even the guy who saved him the corner piece of cake every day in the Mess. He'd barked his orders at her and he'd ignored her opinions just as he tried to ignore Daniel's. If she'd noticed, she hadn't said anything.

Except for the wounded, confused look she'd given him when he'd sided with General Hammond over the whole Hathor guard thing. He'd thought about that a lot in the past few days, initially blaming his actions on whatever substance that the Goa'uld had used to control his mind. If truth be told, however, he hadn't been so far gone that he'd actually agreed with Hammond's decision. He just hadn't wanted anyone else to realize just how much he valued Carter's opinion.

How much he was coming to value Carter.

Because, although they'd only been serving together for a matter of months, he'd never served with someone who had set him so completely on edge as she had. Of course, if Ferretti had dressed up in a blue silk dress and then later tried to jump his bones in the locker room, Jack would have been facing a whole different set of problems. But since it had been Carter - well.

What was it they said about worms in cans?

A few days ago, even with the 'Gateroom in flames and a Goa'uld on the loose, Sam had brushed his abdomen with her fingertips and he'd had to force himself back to reality with a stupid joke.

_"Whoa." She'd whispered. "That's a miracle."_

Damn if he hadn't flinched at her touch. He, who hadn't been ticklish since kindergarten. Hell if he hadn't wanted - _needed_ - to feel the rest of her against his skin like that, just to see if his whole body would dissolve in sensation. He'd instantly felt weak, and foolish, and ashamed. So, he'd blurted out the first stupid thing to come to his head.

_"Crunches."_

And there was no way he could have blamed his response on some pheromone-laden drug. By that time, fresh from the sarcophagus, he'd been purged of whatever influence Hathor had been wielding on him. So, the overwhelming urge he'd had right then to let her hand linger there, the desire he'd had to lean in to her touch, then lean down and taste her to see if she was really as addictive as he'd remembered her to be - well, all of that was welling up out of someplace within himself.

Someplace that needed to be well and truly buried.

So, to discover that Sam hadn't talked about any of this to Daniel - that she hadn't confided in her cohort about something so seemingly innocuous. That it was still a private thing between himself and Carter - _damn_.

It meant something.

Deciding exactly what it meant might be his undoing.

That ever-familiar voice intruded on his reverie. "Told me what, Jack?"

The Colonel straightened, bracing himself on the back of the chair with splayed palms. "Nothing. It's nothing. She's just proving herself to be an extremely valuable officer."

Daniel's look was decidedly speculative, his response overlong in coming. "Yes. She certainly is."

-OOOOOOOO-

The ceremony had been short and simple. They'd held it in the 'Gateroom, even though only a smattering of people had been invited; SG-1, General Hammond, Dr. Frasier, and the other women who had taken part in retaking the SGC that day. Also present were the two young non-coms who'd been guarding the women when they'd made their escape, and a handful of other notable personnel. The General had made a small speech, and then he'd handed all five their commendations - Sam and Dr. Fraiser had received small medals accompanied by certificates, and the others were presented certificates along with a personal letter of thanks from the General.

It was over nearly as soon as it had begun. Jack had stood on the ramp next to the podium, dressed in his official monkey suit, with what he'd hoped was an inscrutable expression on his face. He'd smiled when it had been appropriate, and clapped when it was warranted, not wanting to feel the swell of pride he felt as Sam's contributions of the day had been enumerated. He certainly hadn't noticed how fine she'd looked in her service dress, nor how that single lock of hair had escaped from behind her ear and bobbled at her cheek.

Nor how that cheek had been tinged with color as the General had stopped near her and whispered a few words to her as he'd awarded her the commendation. She'd ducked her head, but her smile had been practically luminous all the same.

Not that Jack had noticed, of course.

Afterwards, he'd lingered. Someone had ordered a cake for the occasion, and he'd eaten a piece while watching the others mingle. As soon as the party had broken up, he'd been on his way, swinging by his office before catching the elevator and heading up to the surface. He'd donned his service hat as he'd stepped out into the evening air, hoofing it towards his truck with his long, ground-eating strides. He'd arrived at her house just as the sun had disappeared behind the mountains, and the stars started winking out through the dark of the night. Reaching across the center console, Jack had grabbed the package there, then made his way up her walk and onto her porch, where, noticing too late that she'd didn't have any furniture there, he ended up lowering himself to sit on her top step.

Carter arrived around ten minutes later. He'd made sure to park on the other side of the street, so when she pulled up, her Volvo took its customary spot directly in front of her house. She wasn't expecting him - that was obvious from the way she drew up short upon seeing him on her steps, squinting a little into the dark as if assuring herself that he were really there. Her heels made dull clicks on the paving stones of her walkway as she made her way towards him, stopping at the foot of her steps and peering up at him.

"Sir?" She wasn't carrying a purse of any sort. Just a wallet and her keys in one hand, and the box carrying her medal and the commendation in the other. "What are you doing here?"

O'Neill held his hand out and, in the true nature of teammates who had developed a sort of unspoken communication, she climbed the stairs and handed him her stuff before turning and lowering herself to perch next to him on the step. She sat primly, tucking in her skirt around her legs - something he'd never seen her do before - an act which emphasized the fact that she was, in fact, a girl.

As if he needed the reminder.

Because she smelled differently tonight, too. For the ceremony, she'd obviously put on some kind of perfume, or used a different kind of soap, or shampoo, or something. Damn, it was nice. Soft, but spicy. He could spend all night trying to figure out what it was, but that probably wouldn't be the best idea.

Storing that thought away, he deposited her things on the step next to him, then picked up the package he'd brought with him and reached over, laying it on her lap.

She merely stared at him, her eyes wide. "Sir?"

Jack leaned slightly forward, resting his arms on his knees. Glancing sideways at her, he tilted his head at the gift before looking up and capturing her gaze with his own. "Open it."

"What's in it?"

"Just a little something I picked up for you."

"Why?" Her face screwed up into a question. "Sir, I don't understand."

"Look, Carter. Just open it, will you?"

"But I don't understand why you're giving me a gift."

He straightened, rubbing his palms once or twice against the fine fabric of his slacks. "Let's just say I owe you one."

She frowned. "For what?"

"For the whole Hathor thing. You kept your head in the game and kicked some Goa'uld butt. Saved the day. Pulled a hero thing out of your a- "

"I was just doing my job, Sir. And I had a ton of help."

"Still. you did a helluva job, Carter." Jack's tone had grown serious. "You definitely went above and beyond."

Sam raised a single shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. "I couldn't just sit back and let all you guys hand the world over to Hathor."

"Those were your orders." He tilted his head to one side, studying her. "The fact that you flagrantly defied them shows a great deal of growth and maturity. You didn't just wait obediently for the world to end. You assessed the situation, found your allies and then fixed the problem. It was - impressive."

There went those cheeks again, pinkening. The blush showed even in the late-evening dark even as she ducked her chin towards her chest. Her profile was perfect.

Not that Jack noticed.

He looked away from her, out towards the street, to where the moonlight limned the light gray of her car into silver. It was safer to focus on the car. For one thing, he didn't care how it smelled. "Like I said, I was impressed."

He looked back at her to see that she was studying him, an odd little smile on her lips. The same moonlight that dulled the color of her car somehow heightened the shine in her eyes. It was something O'Neill had no idea how to interpret, and was pretty damned sure he shouldn't try.

Reaching out, he tapped the gift he'd given her, and Sam looked down at the package on her lap. It wasn't thick - only an inch and a half or so. Nor was it particularly large - around nine inches by twelve, and didn't weigh more than a pound. Her fingertips skimmed the paper - it was green, shiny, and sported snowflakes interspersed with reindeer. The reindeer were wearing sunglasses.

"All I had was Christmas wrapping paper."

"No. Really?" Sarcasm - good natured, but still there. Her tone sounded a lot like - well, a lot like him.

Jack allowed a small smile. "I couldn't find a bow."

"Nothing left over from your Easter bonnet?"

"Ooh." He grinned fully, then. "You're becoming quite the smart-ass, now aren't you?"

"I'm learning from the best, Sir." She leaned towards him and nudged him with her shoulder. It was quickly becoming his favorite of her quirks. She didn't quite pull away from him, her body angled more towards him than before. Her grin was more intimate than it should have been.

O'Neill didn't mind.

She turned the package over in her hands, and found the seam on the back where he'd fastened the paper with tape. Sliding her finger into the opening, she separated the tape from the paper with an efficient "thwip", then turned the package 45 degrees and did the same thing to the end. Taking her time, she unfolded the paper that he'd meticulous mitered there, then loosened the wrapping as a whole and pulled the object inside to freedom.

"A picture frame?" She turned to look at him, hefting the wooden rectangle aloft.

"It's a shadow box." He reached out and tapped the glass front with his index finger. "See? It's got a little door here where you can put things that are more than two dimensional."

"What's it for?"

"Carter - I thought you were the genius here."

She laid the shadow box on her lap and then lifted the front open. Inside was a board of sorts covered in velvet. Sam ran her fingertips along the soft surface. She didn't look at him as she spoke. "It's for my commendation medal, isn't it?"

"So you can display it."

She didn't speak for a moment, and Jack looked sideways at her just in time to see her grab her bottom lip between her teeth, suppressing one of her famous Carter smiles.

"I just thought you might want a way to show off your award."

"Thank you, Sir." Balancing the box on her lap, she ran her thumbs along the smooth lines of the beveled glass. "This is - well - this is beyond thoughtful. I don't know what to say."

She looked over at him. Close, too close. Every move she made released a little more of whatever perfume she was wearing. Every time she fidgeted, it seemed to press her closer to his side. Their shoulders, with their matching navy-blue service jackets, had merged into a single line, her warmth transmitting through the fabric towards him. The single curl that had defied her during the ceremony had again escaped its customary spot behind her ear, and now softly feathered against her cheek.

His hand itched to smooth it back where it belonged.

"Don't say anything." Jack had to clear his throat, and even so, the words came out too deeply. "You deserve it."

"Regardless, Sir." Sam placed both hands, palms down, on the frame. Possessively. When she looked back up at him, her eyes searched his for a long time before she spoke again. "Thank you."

Dangerous. This was dangerous. His entire body felt as if they'd been transported back to the SGC, standing near a burning sarcophagus, her fingertips tracing a gentle line along his soul. He tried to quell the shiver that surged through him, hoping to whatever heavenly entity that might give a damn about him that she couldn't feel it, too.

Praying equally hard that she could.

Cursing himself for ten kinds of fool that he cared.

As if in answer, a car made its way down the street, its headlights casting weird elongated shadows across the yard. Jack and Sam sat in companionable silence, watching as the shadows compress and then fade as the car passed out of sight. Spell breaking? No, but something to provide some relief from the tension.

"A neighbor?" O'Neill indicated the car with a nod.

Carter glanced at him, and then back towards the street. "I guess. I don't know many of them."

"Hazards of our job." He knew. "Speaking of which, I'd better go. Early morning."

"Don't you have the day off tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Jack blew out a sigh, then leaned forward and stood slowly. "I do. I thought I'd hit the road early, find a little stream or a lake somewhere and do some fishing."

"Fishing."

"Pole. Line. Bait." He turned, straightening his jacket. "Fishing."

"I've heard of it."

"Have you ever done it?"

Sam grinned. "Once. With my grandfather. I was little, and he took Mark and me to some little lake. I started skipping rocks or something, and he got frustrated. Apparently, that kind of thing scares the fish away."

"That, it does."

"I didn't know." She lifted the shadow box, balancing it on her knees, holding it steady with both hands on the top. "He thought I should have figured it out to begin with. Next time he took Mark, I didn't get invited."

"That kind of sucks."

She laughed. "I guess."

Jack shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks. "Hey-about the frame."

Glancing downward, Carter looked at the shadow box before raising her gaze back up at the Colonel. "What about it?"

"Look inside it." He stood evenly, watching as she lowered it to her lap again, opening the little door and touching the velvet pad inside.

"What about it?"

"Behind that."

Her brows furrowed as she fit a finger between the velvet panel and the side of the shadow box. With a tidy little flick, she lifted the pad free and removed it from the shadow box to reveal the true gift beneath.

He couldn't help it. Couldn't help grinning as she looked at, and then puzzled at what she'd found. Couldn't help enjoying the expression of disbelief that played across her lovely face when she recognized what she held.

"How on earth did you get this?" She snagged the single page between her fingers and pulled it free. "It must be a screen-capture of the security video - right?"

"I have a few friends in the audio-visual department. They printed out the video frame for me." Jack hoped his shrug portrayed nonchalance. "It's a little grainy, but you get the idea."

"This is awesome."

"I hoped you'd feel that way."

The photograph was black and white, and not entirely in focus, but it clearly showed Sam at the exact moment that she'd whacked General Hammond across the back of his head. In the photo, her face was screwed up in concentration, and Hammond's expression was one of stunned shock - blurred a bit as he'd lurched forward and towards the concrete floor of the SGC. It was a perfect moment in time. One of the only priceless ones Jack had found as he'd waded through the crap-load of video he'd been saddled with reviewing.

Carter looked it over - studying each facet of the photo as she let loose a slew of breathy little half-laughs. "This is seriously awesome."

"Not every officer can say that they've received a commendation for beating the crap out of their CO."

"True." She actually giggled, her features bright. "But now, thanks to you, I can not only say it, but I can also prove it."

O'Neill allowed himself a moment to watch the play of joy across her face, then nodded, turning half-way towards the street. "Well, Captain. I'd better go."

"Oh - wait, Colonel." She dropped first the velvet page, and then the photograph, back into the shadow box. Carefully, she laid the frame on the wrapping paper she'd set on the step next to her. Rising, she descended the steps and practically jogged down the walk until she'd reached him. "Thanks again. So much."

He tried not to let it register how near she was. Shrug it off. Ignore it. "Well, like I said before. I owed you."

She reached out and touched his arm, fitting her hand around his wrist. Squeezing slightly, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek. Chaste, innocent. Her touch shouldn't have affected him as it did, but still, O'Neill had to force his hands not to curl, force his head not to turn and change the touch into something less - pure.

"Thanks again, Sir."

His throat had tightened. He nodded down at her, moving backwards until he'd stepped out of her touch.

"Okay then." She offered a little wave. "Have fun fishing tomorrow."

"I will." His voice cracked, but he grunted a little and tried again. "You know, you ought to take another stab at it."

She rolled her eyes speculatively. "Maybe I will. Someday."

Jack took another stride backwards. "It can really be fun. In the right circumstances."

That smile. Luminous and honest. "With the right person?"

"Something like that."

"I'll think about it."

"Do." He was surprised at how much he meant it.

For several long beats, she studied him. Then, as if surprised to find herself doing it, she shuffled backwards a little, her heels navigating the uneven pavers with the expertise of familiarity. "Well, I'll see you Monday, then."

"Monday." O'Neill shoved his hands into his pockets again, pivoting and taking the rest of the walk in just a few long strides. But when he got to the line of shrubs, he turned. "Hey, Carter."

She was at the foot of her steps, looking at him. "Yes, Sir?"

"About this whole 'paying back' thing."

He brows lowered even as her lips tilted upwards. "What about it?"

"Do you do the same thing with Daniel or Teal'c?"

The night was quiet, still. He could almost hear her think, hear her heart beat quicken. His own pulse pounded in his ears.

"Um, no, actually."

"Why not?"

She lifted a shoulder. A coy move that went along with how she'd captured her lip between her teeth. A habit that was as endearing as much as it was something rather _more_ than endearing. "I don't know. Do you do it?"

"No." He shifted his weight on his feet. He needed to know, but resented his own need to ask the question again. "Why don't you?"

Her gaze captured his - steady. Direct. Unwavering. "I guess it just feels like something between us. Like our thing."

Our thing.

Jack nodded, pressing his lips together against any number of dangerous responses.

Our thing.

"Sir?"

Our thing.

He lifted a hand in a casual wave. An action far more meaningless than he'd wanted. But anything would have been - unnatural. With a last look, a last breath, he turned around and headed for his truck.

_Our thing._

Only when he turned the key in the ignition did he allow himself to let that sink in. Let himself consider ramifications. Meanings. As he gunned the gas and pulled away from the curb, he allowed himself another look towards her house. She was standing on the step, leaning against the pillar on her porch, holding the frame he'd given her against her body. Watching him.

Our _thing_.

He was nearly home before he ran a hand through his hair and grinned outright.

_Our_ thing.

He could handle that.


	4. Singularity

**Things Owed**

**Singularity**

_Wow. This one went long. Hope you don't mind._

_And I've still had no luck responding to the wonderful reviews/favorites/follows so many of you have proffered. Business has picked up again, so I'm trying to fit writing in around the rest of my life. Life would be easier with more time in the day and less cleaning to do. Ha ha._

Carter lifted a hand and tucked her hair back behind her ear. Despite the sunshine, a stiff breeze had invaded the park. Not unusual for the Springs, but an annoyance, nonetheless.

She had arrived at the park a few minutes before, searching the crowd as she'd walked from the parking lot towards the ramada. Not that she had been looking for anyone in particular, really. Because she saw him every day, right? Or at least, most days. Just like she saw most of these people every day. So - really she wasn't looking for anyone in particular, right?

SG-1 had taken a few days off, though - direct orders from Hammond. Sam had found herself weirdly at odds with herself, not knowing what she was supposed to do. She'd helped Janet paint a few walls, and then the two of them had scoured what felt like every single boutique in Colorado Springs for the perfect accouterments for an eleven-year-old girl's bedroom. After that, she'd done some laundry, and cleaning, and spent an inordinate amount of time clearing out her refrigerator. Most of that time had been spent trying to figure out exactly what was in the plastic containers stacked in their cold little towers. Ultimately, she'd found it easier to throw them all away and buy new ones.

She'd spent entirely too long _not_ thinking about work. Or the people she'd come to consider family. Or, rather, more than family. She'd tried not to think about _him_. There wasn't anything to think about, right? He was just her CO, her boss, her superior. They'd become - friendly. Familiar. Close.

Not unlike other people who served together.

He wasn't there yet, anyway. She'd found Siler and Walter easily enough, spotted the trio of women who worked as nurses in the infirmary on a constant rotation, and located General Hammond, sitting on a park bench with a tow-headed granddaughter on his knee. Other people she easily recognized - another doctor from the infirmary and a few older boys who appeared to be his sons, some of the office staff, and several other airmen and their families. Daniel and Teal'c weren't there yet, either.

Just like _he_ wasnt there. Not that she'd been looking for him. Deep down, she'd kind of been hoping that he'd forgotten, or found something _anything_ - else to do. Partly because she still hadn't figured out how to explain her blatant disregard for his orders as she'd descended through the abandoned nuclear complex holding Cassie in her arms. The subsequent debriefing had been all facts and circumstance - but that particular part of the story had been heavily whitewashed for the General's benefit.

Because, how did you explain what had happened there? Sam still couldn't quite explain it to herself.

They hadn't spoken since the last time they'd met at a park - and even then it had been more of a non-conversation after O'Neill had arrived with the borrowed Shiba Inu. And while Sam had thought it sweet that he'd gone through the trouble of giving Cassie the experience of playing with her first dog, the situation hadn't lent itself to deep conversation. Once the Colonel had taken the pooch back to his owner, Sam had met Janet at the home improvement store to pick out paint. There really hadn't been an opportune moment for Sam to address her insubordinate behavior with him.

This current situation wouldn't have been, either. Even if he _had_ shown up.

"Looks like a party."

A hand touched Sam's elbow and she simultaneously jumped backwards while whirling around, arms flailing, her feet dancing an abnormally wobbly pirouette in the heavy sand.

The corner of his lip twitched as he watched her try to regain control of her body. "A bit jumpy, are we?"

"Yes - no." Slapping a palm to her sternum, Sam forced a nervous giggle back down her throat. "You startled me."

"I wasn't being stealthy in the least, Captain."

"No - I know." Shaking her head, she shifted her weight on her feet. One hand made a blithe, meaningless circle in the air. "I was just looking for you over there - not behind me, or near me, or where I'd be. Not here. You know?"

One dark eye narrowed. "You were looking for me?"

"No. Geez - of course not. That would be weird." The filter in her brain had completely lost control of what it allowed her tongue to say. "Not looking. Because why would I? Seriously. That's absurd, right?"

"So, you weren't looking for Daniel or Teal'c, either, right?"

"Yes. Not them. Just you - or not. Of course I was." Sam swallowed, trying to decide whether the Colonel appeared disturbed or amused. With him, that wasn't an easy call to make. "They're not here yet."

"Yes. Well. I'm sure they'll turn up eventually." He turned towards the party, perusing the happenings with a practiced, observant eye. "Cassie looks happy."

"She does."

"So does Doc Fraiser."

"I think she is." Sam glanced towards the center of the crowd and found her friend. "I know she is."

"She'll make a good mom."

"She will." Calmer, now, Carter could focus better. "It's really the best situation for Cassie. She's with someone who has the necessary clearances, and since Janet's a doctor, she'll be able to watch for signs that the object implanted within Cassandra is reintegrating itself."

The Colonel turned his head to look at her, concern etching his expression. "Is that a possibility?"

Her blue eyes met his dark ones. The mood had turned clinical, which was somehow comforting. This conversation was easy - science was easy. Facts, rather than supposition or vague small talk. "To be honest, nobody really knows. We're optimistic, but, in the end, this is radically alien technology about which we know very little."

He pressed a shoulder against the frame of the swing set, leaning against the bright blue metal tubing. "That'll be a helluva thing to explain on her medical forms at the elementary school."

Sam's lips tweaked upward in a smile. "As long as she stays away from the 'Gate, I think we'll be okay. If recent tests are accurate, eventually all the parts should be reabsorbed into her own tissues, and Cassie won't be any different than the rest of us."

"Well, except that we are exceptionally cool." O'Neill pretended to flick a piece of lint off his shoulder. "She'll have to hang out with us a lot so that it rubs off on her."

"I'm sure that she'd like that."

"One thing's for certain," The Colonel took a moment to locate the girl within the crowd. "She's definitely enjoying herself at the moment."

Sam made a tiny hum in the back of her throat, nodding slowly as she dragged her attention from O'Neill to the rest of the party-goers. They'd reserved a covered picnic ramada at the park nearest Dr. Fraiser's home, and dozens of people milled around the area. Most of the guests were military families - those with a security clearance high enough to know the story behind the day's celebration - but many were people that Cassie had already charmed from school or from the neighborhood. Janet's parents and two of her sisters had even flown in from Wyoming for the occasion. The Powers That Be had fast-tracked the adoption, and it had taken a few weeks rather than years.

They'd taped streamers to the cinder-block pillars of the ramada, and anchored colorful bunches of balloons to trees and tables. Two tables sat under the ramada itself, laden with food, and a mismatched conglomeration of card tables, folding chairs, and picnic blankets spread out in a wavy perimeter from there, wrapping itself around the sandy play area and meeting back upon itself on the other side of the swings.

The guest of honor positively glowed amidst all the attention. Janet had fashioned intricate braids in her hair, and the dress she'd worn at the courthouse had been exchanged for a snappy set of jeans and a violet t-shirt with sequins sewn on it in the shape of a heart. Sam hadn't been able to figure out who'd had more fun shopping - the Doctor, or her newly adopted daughter. The new experiences and situations of Earth life hadn't frightened Cassandra; if anything, they had given her more confidence. The raw, haunted look had gone from her eyes, lately, and Janet had told Sam the evening before that the girl hadn't had a nightmare in days.

"She deserves to have some fun." Carter's eyes shadowed a little as she remembered. "I can't imagine a child having to go through what she did. It was bad enough experiencing it all as an adult."

"Cassandra didn't go through it alone." The Colonel tilted a look at her. "You were there, too."

Sam shook her head. "Not through the worst of it. Being the only survivor of your entire race? Having to live among the dead as long as she did? It's truly too horrifying to contemplate."

"She's strong. She's getting through it."

"I know." Her frown deepened. "We just don't know what she's really feeling inside. She's acclimating, but still so young. It's tough to know how this all ultimately affect her."

ONeill made a sound that could have been a growl, but was probably a cough. "Like you said, Dr. Fraiser will be able to watch for signs that she's struggling."

"True." Carter hooked her fingertips into the pockets of her jeans. "But still."

"Hey, Jack. Hey, Sam."

They turned in unison towards the new voice, where Daniel had appeared seemingly from out of nowhere, dodging the swings as he walked towards them. Jack tapped the watch on his wrist, tilting it pointedly at the new arrival. "You're late."

Daniels' finger rose to shove his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. "Teal'c and I stopped off to get ice and sodas."

"Did he do the thing again?"

Dr. Jackson's smile faded as squinted towards the ramada, where the team's fourth member had just deposited O'Neill's gigantic cooler near the food tables. "Yes. Yes he did."

"Down to the ounce?"

"The half-ounce." Daniel grimaced. "That Jaffa does not like to waste money."

"So, what won this time?" Sam peered around Jack's shoulder for a better look. "Where'd you take him?"

"Safeway." Daniel fiddled with the hair above his ear. "They were having a sale on Coke products, luckily. Which means that we got the good stuff and not generic."

They all watched as Teal'c crouched next to the cooler and opened the lid. With his customary, efficient movements, he reorganized the neat stacks of cans within, buffering the different flavors of drinks between mini-walls of crushed ice.

"And not two-liters this time." Sam's voice carried a slightly triumphant tone. "Must have been a great sale."

With a little shrug, Daniel sighed. "He'd clipped coupons."

Jack scratched at his chin. "How'd he learn about coupons?"

"Beverly in HR. She's got five kids. She knows all about sales and clipping and - uh- other - stuff." Daniel trailed off. He'd never clipped a coupon in his life. He didn't even know how to converse on the subject.

The Colonel grunted. "That boy needs a hobby."

"Teach him to knit?"

"I'm thinking scrapbooking."

Sam toed the sand with her sneaker. "How about if we just assign him something other than drinks next time?"

Daniel's lenses flashed in the sunlight as he turned to look at her. "Like what, snacks? He'd price it down to the Cheetoh."

"Pro-rate the pretzels."

"Get store-brand chips."

Sam considered. "Paper products?"

"Napkins by the square inch."

"Forks by the tine."

O'Neill shook his head in mock sadness. "And you could forget about the bendy straws."

"Too pricey."

"That Jaffa is one cheap son of a -"

"Jack!"

All three of them looked up to see Cassie running across the play area towards them, her sneakers kicking up little sprays of sand. "Sam! Daniel!"

"Hey, kiddo." Jack intercepted the little purple-clad missile, grabbing her in an enormous bear hug. "What are you doing here?"

She looked up at him, confused. "What do you mean? It's my party."

"The Colonel knows that, Cassie." Carter reached out and tugged gently on one of the girl's braids. "He's just teasing you."

"Okay." She cast O'Neill a speculative look before stepping out of his hug. Reaching out, she grasped Daniel's hand. "Dr. Frai - I mean, Mom wants you to help her get the grill started."

"Me?" Daniel's brows furrowed together. "That's not normally my thing."

Cassie leaned in towards the archaeologist, hiding her whisper behind her uplifted hand. "Mom says Jack tends to burn stuff."

"Oh, she says that?" Daniel's gaze snapped towards the older man before returning with a conspiratorial glint to Cassie. "Well, I can certainly attest to it. He definitely does."

"Does what?" Sam pretended not to have heard.

"Burn food." Daniel shook his head. "Poor man lacks ability."

"Burn food? Lacks ability? Hey-who's the bald-faced liar making up stories about me?" Jack struck an indignant pose before winking at an obviously uncomfortable Cassandra. He crouched to her level and patted her shoulder. "I'm just kidding, Cassie. Tell your mom that I'll be there to help in a minute, okay?"

Sam watched as Daniel and Cassie walked, hand in hand, towards the ramada. Despite herself, her smile faded a bit, and she had to look down at where her feet made decent-sized divots in the sand.

"Regrets?"

Carter watched him as he rose, feigning what she hoped was confusion. "Sir?"

"About not adopting her." O'Neill wasn't looking at her, but instead towards the picnic tables, where Daniel had started fiddling at the BBQ. "Do you have any regrets about not taking her?"

Sam's brows crept together. "No. Yeah-but no."

His smile was kind, if distant. "So, which is it?"

She studied his face for a moment before looking away towards where Cassie had started playing a game of tag with the other kids on an unoccupied expanse of grass. Regardless of where she looked, her body still seemed aware of O'Neill's every move. She'd been trying not to do that as much, lately, trying not to pay attention to the man behind the rank. Done whatever she could to _not_ be put in a situation where she could even be this aware of him as anything besides her boss. And how had this conversation even occurred? Sam had been careful ever since the moment she'd been stupid enough to climb into the cab of his truck so many weeks before. Taking a deep breath, she forced her voice into a semblance of levity. "I'm not really ready for the whole 'Mommy' thing."

"Don't want kids?" The question seemed casual, but wasn't.

"Yes. But not yet. Eventually. But not now." Folding her arms across her body, she turned towards him, focusing on an unknown scene over his left shoulder. "It's just not time. There are things that need to be done first."

"Like saving the world from alien invaders?" His tone was only slightly teasing.

She answered him in all seriousness. "Something like that."

He exhaled heavily. Meaningfully. "Yeah. That kind of thing tends to mess with your personal life, doesn't it?"

Carter's snort wasn't anything close to ladylike. "What personal life?"

"Exactly."

She glanced at him only to find that he was watching her, his dark eyes appraising her with a frankness that she couldn't begin to fathom, his expression unreadable. Hell if that wasn't the part that made the least sense to her - how she could know what he was thinking - know exactly how he would act when it came to tactics in the field - and still be some completely unable to understand him in moments like this. Within normal times, when they weren't being shot at or chased down. How had he built up that wall? How had he so smothered whom he was when he still managed to dig up her own skeletons?

And why was he looking at her as if she were the answer to something? Because, it simply wasn't possible that he was as fascinated with her as she was with him. Because she wasn't. Or at least, she shouldn't be. Couldn't be.

Damn.

But if not, why was he still studying her? And what the hell was he thinking?

Damn, damn, damn.

"Sam!" From across the playground, Janet's shout broke through the haze in Sam's brain. Even so, dragging her attention from the shuttered face before her to find her friend in the crowd took enormous effort and concentration. More so to decipher the flurry of hand gestures that the doctor was making.

She didn't trust herself to look at him again, only throwing a glance downwards at where hands had closed into fists at his sides. "I've got to go. Janet needs me to help with the game."

"Yeah." His voice cracked as if he hadn't used it in ages. "And I'll need to go give Daniel a hand."

"Later, then."

"Later."

-OOOOOOOO-

"Hand me the garbage bag, please."

Sam idly played with the pile of tattered streamers in her hand, looking up from it only when Janet nudged her foot with her own. "What? I'm sorry."

"Garbage bag." The diminutive doctor held out a hand towards the table, where a box-full of trash sacks sat between the leftover plates and cups. In the other fist, she grasped a deflated bouquet of balloons. "I need one."

Snapping out of her reverie, Sam reached for the sack, yanking one out of the box and pulling it open before handing it to Janet. "Sorry. My brain is - "

"Elsewhere?"

"Yes." Removing another sack from the box, Sam opened it wide with one hand while shoving the streamers into it. "That's a good word for it."

"I could think of some other good words."

Carter grimaced. "That's really all right. Thanks, but no."

Janet's mouth tweaked upwards in a wry grin. "Who's the guy?"

"What?" Sam rose with a rush, rounding the picnic table as if on a mission. "No - no guy. What are you talking about? Why would there be a guy?"

Shoving the balloons deep into the bag, the doctor reached for a stack of used plastic cups. "Because you're acting a little - "

"Stupid?"

"Twitterpated."

Spoken in the same moment, the two words kind of melded together, meaning more while enmeshed.

"Not - _that_." Sam's sigh seemed over-loud in the evening dim. "I'm just tired."

"Mmmm." Janet didn't seem convinced.

"Besides." Sam looked up from where she'd started attacking the tape on the underside of the table that secured the disposable coverings to the municipal cement slabs. "When would I have time to get hung up on someone? All I do is work."

"Yeah." The smaller woman's instant response held a note of condescension. "With a whole bunch of really hot guys."

"Oh, please." Sam's fingernail finally pulled a corner of tape free and she tore the piece off in a single motion. Some of the paper table-covering came off, too. "All of whom are completely off-limits."

"And if they weren't?"

Two more of the tape anchors came away in quicker succession, and then Sam could pull the entire covering off with one good yank. Smooshing up the thin paper into a wad, she crammed it into the bag. "Still no."

"Why not?" Dark hair flittered around her ears as Janet shook her head. "Just for kicks. It'd be Daniel Jackson, right?"

"What?" Finished with the one table, Sam took a few steps towards the next. "No. Not Daniel."

"Not Teal'c?" Janet settled the bag she'd been filling on a concrete bench before reaching for a few half filled water bottles. "I wouldn't have pegged you for that."

"For what?"

"For being into the alien thing."

"Seriously?" Sam grabbed another stack of dirty paper plates and tossed them into the garbage bag. "Really? You _really_ just said that."

Janet's cheeks dimpled into a grin. "Just making conversation."

Straightening, Sam narrowed a glare at her friend. "You can stop at any time."

"There's that cute guy from the lab. The dark-haired one that always follows you around like a little puppy."

"Simmons?"

"He's cute."

"Yes. Graham's adorable." Sam dumped an open can of soda out into the grass. "He's also just barely post-pubescent. I like a little experience, thanks."

Whirling, Janet fixed Sam with an iron gaze. "Experience. Ah. So that's the way the wind blows."

Sam chucked the can into the open maw of the trash bag. "No wind, Janet. There's no wind."

"C'mon, Captain. Give me something to live on." Janet plopped herself on the concrete bench of the now-clean table. "I'm going to be single-momming it for a while. I won't have time to date until Cassie settles in."

Slowly, Sam turned, finally facing her friend completely. Pressing her lips together, she studied the little doctor's face. "Really - truly. There's nothing to report."

Janet's full mouth pursed as she exhaled slowly. "Sam. There's nobody here but you and me until Daniel and Teal'c get back with the truck. And I'm not Captain Fraiser right now - I'm just Janet."

"There's a difference?" Sam took a step forward and sat down sideways on the bench opposite her friend. "Because they both seem pretty damned bossy."

Full darkness had somehow fallen, and Janet's brown eyes appeared shadowed almost completely. Even though the park lights had come on, the area under the ramada was still obscured and intimate. "You two looked pretty deep in conversation over by the swing set. It didn't look - seemly."

"Seemly?" Sam looked down at her hands, which were loosely clasped on the tabletop. "What are we - characters out of a Jane Austen novel?"

"You know what I mean."

"I do." Nodding, she flattened her hands on the cool cement. "But it was nothing. I was just trying to figure out how to apologize for something."

Janet's brows crept towards each other, a cute little wrinkle forming above her nose. "For what?"

"Disobeying orders, actually." Sam bit her lip. "On that day. When we were dealing with the possibility of Cassie - not making it - and we were taking her down into the abandoned silo. Cassie woke up in the elevator on the way down. The Colonel ordered me to continue on with the plan but I just - couldn't."

"Was he angry?"

Lifting a hand, Sam leaned her cheek on her fist. "I don't know. He hasn't said anything about it."

"He's probably fine. I wouldn't be too concerned about it."

Sam looked away, off into the distance where a group of people were playing around on the tennis courts. "Yeah. I guess."

"But you still worry."

"He's my boss, Janet." Sam sighed. "In this freakishly weird job - he's my boss - and we need to maintain some equilibrium. Disobeying orders is just - _not_ good. You know?"

"You could just talk to him."

"Yeah." Carter nodded, a sideways effort with her cheek still balanced on her furled hand. "I could. But there's that whole 'seemly' thing."

"Write a note?"

"Oooooh." At that, Sam grinned. "Very seventh grade."

Janet's answering smile was just as wry. "Bake him some cookies?"

Sam paused at that, straightened up, her expression turning speculative. "No. But maybe I could do something else."

-OOOOOOO-

She'd already figured out the secure interface between her laptop computer and the facility's own systems. Luckily, she'd maintained her friendships at the Academy, and had been able to sweet talk a few hours of uninterrupted time alone with the equipment. The fact that school was out for a few weeks' break had made it easier. She'd also promised Professor Charles to guest teach in his Astrophysics class during the upcoming semester. That had given her the whole night - as well as the key to the place.

Sam opened the bag of popcorn she'd gotten from the local theater, emptying it into the plastic tub she'd brought along before setting it on the console in front of her. Drinks, snacks, the two perfect seats picked out, the show ready to go on screen - she had everything she'd planned for the evening.

Except for the guest.

As if on cue, the door at the top of the theater swung wide, and a familiar silhouette appeared in the opening. His large frame practically filled the doorway as he paused, stepping a little inside to call out a cautious, "Hello?"

Sam swallowed a deep breath before lifting an arm in a slight wave. "Down here, Sir."

Dark fell again as the door slowly closed, and the Colonel made his way down the aisle towards the control center. He stopped next to the heavy wooden console, giving the contraption a once-over before finally looking at her directly. "Okay, you got me. What's up?"

"Well, Sir." Sam breathed deeply, her fingers skimming the keyboard of her laptop. "For the past few weeks, I've been trying to figure out how to tell you something."

He fitted his fingertips into the front pockets of his jeans, rocking forward slightly on the balls of his feet. The look he gave her might have been patience or exasperation. "Tell me what?"

"Sir." She raised a hand and brushed her hair behind her ear. "That day at the abandoned nuclear facility. When you ordered me to leave Cassie behind. I didn't."

"Carter." His face turned downwards, towards where her computer sat on the control board. "Just - hold it right there."

"No, sir. Please." Sam lifted a palm towards him, ducking her chin in an attempt to catch his gaze. "Please let me apologize. It was unprofessional to disobey a direct order, and I'm - "

"You were right." He lifted his eyes to hers. "You were right to stay with her. I couldn't have left her, either."

"But you sounded so angry - "

His expression softened, and something indefinable flickered across his face. "Carter. It was the right thing for you to do. You followed your instincts, which happened to be right on target, and it all worked out. We're calling it a win."

For a few long moments, Sam just stared at him. "So, I'm not in trouble?"

"What are you, a recalcitrant teenager?"

"No. I'm a junior officer." Her eyes flew even wider. "With kind of an alarming habit of disregarding the chain of command."

"You're a genius, a fantastic second, and a kick-ass Captain." He shrugged a little, the smooth leather of his jacket catching at what light was available in the darkened auditorium. "I figure we're good."

Okay. Sam looked down at her computer, absently playing with the screen, tilting it back and forth with her fingertips. She felt him studying her again, felt the intensity of his full attention on her. Sam didn't know if she would ever get used to that feeling of being read and understood completely, even when she was doing her best to conceal everything she was. It was unnerving and thrilling at the same time. Suppressing a slight shiver, she gathered herself and clicked a few buttons on the keyboard of her computer. "All right then."

"So, that's why you dragged me all the way down here?"

"No. That's not all." Sam stilled, biting her lip a little before running her fingers along the keys of her laptop. "I - uh - I put something else together for you."

"For me?" He leaned over the edge of the console, watching as she fiddled with the control panel. "Why?"

"Well." She flicked a few more toggles and then waited to see the proper file loading. "Because I owe you."

"You _owe_ me?" O'Neill scowled. "What the hell for?"

As soon as the file uploaded completely, she pressed the appropriate key and then straightened, looking the Colonel directly in the eye. "I owe you a black hole."

He actually looked confused. "A black - "

Sam gestured towards the front of the theater, where a small cooler sat in a seat just off-center in the front row. She lifted the tub of popcorn and handed it to the Colonel, smiling slightly as he fitted it into the crook of his arm. "A black hole."

She clicked a few more keys, then reached over and dimmed the rest of the lights in the facility. "C'mon. It's all set up."

He stepped aside and allowed her to lead the way down the aisle, the dull blue lights in the floor guiding them towards the appointed seats. He waited for her to sit before handing her the popcorn tub. Shrugging out of his jacket, he laid it over the seat next to his before lowering himself down into the seat beside Sams. He adjusted himself in the seat, reclining the seat into position and then turning his head to look at her. "So, how did you arrange this?"

She'd already propped her feet up on the cooler, leaning as far back as the seat would allow. "I know some people."

"At a planetarium?"

"I went to the Academy, remember? The Astrophysics and Astronomy faculty are my - " she paused, searching for the right word even as she reached for a handful of popcorn.

He beat her to it. "Your peeps?"

Sam's hand stalled on its way into the tub. The corner of her mouth turned upwards as she caught his eye. "My peeps. Funny. So, anyway, a week or so ago, General Hammond sent SG-14 back to get the equipment from Hanka. Among the pieces they brought back was the hard drive from the telescope. It had survived the attack, and somehow captured the images that we'd gone there to get in the first place. I spliced things together a little, called in a few favors, and 'Voila!' We have the black hole we went there to capture in the first place."

"Voila." O'Neill's brows rose. "Just like that."

"You were supposed to have been the one to see it in the first place, before everything went south. And then I had to come back with Cassie, and you got left behind because I suggested it, and then you got attacked by the Goa'uld, which kind of sucked." She captured some kernels in her fingertips, bringing them to her lips. "So, I figured I owed you."

"How, in the name of all that's holy, is that your debt to repay?"

She looked upwards, where the giant domed screen had started to flicker to life. Thoughtfully, she chewed and swallowed. "I'm not sure, actually. But I was the one that could give this back to you, and I knew that you'd been disappointed to miss it."

It took him a long time to say anything. "So you put this all together for me?"

"Well, yeah." Carter nodded. "Although, to be honest, I really wanted to see it, too."

Up above, the alien sky of Hanka blazed to life, even as the eclipse already loomed. Jack leaned back again, his t-shirt stretching across his chest as he crossed his hands behind his head. Angling his legs slightly, he lifted his feet to rest beside hers on the cooler. His heels banged against the plastic lid, the noise amplified in the silence of the auditorium.

"It's too quiet." Sam frowned. "I should have thought to add music or something."

"Last time I looked, Carter, you weren't a movie producer."

Sam cast him a look from out of the corner of her eye. His entire attention was on the scene above them on the domed screen. His face, his entire being, had relaxed to a point of easy openness that she rarely saw from the man. Usually, he closed himself off from everything around him to focus on the task at hand, but just now he radiated child-like anticipation. Excitement. She looked back up towards the eclipse to hide her smile. "True."

"You used a filter on this footage."

"I had to. I like my retinas just how there are."

"It's cool how you can see the double shadow of that other moon."

"Right?" Carter pointed at the faint outline of the second body on the screen above. "You can even see a gigantic crater in the image. That wasn't visible on my computer screen."

"Too small."

"And grainy. The optics of this planetarium are much better than my monitor."

"Ah."

He shuffled down a little further in his seat, and Sam could feel the warmth of his skin where their arms pressed together on the common rest. It was quiet, and dark, and even in the huge auditorium, more intimate than she'd anticipated. Without wanting to, she became aware of his thigh brushing hers, of how their shoulders nestled against each other, and even how their shoes had come to a rest on the cooler leaning in towards each other.

"So, when did you put all this together?"

"While we were on leave." Sam's hands gripped the plastic tub on her lap. "After the adoption party."

"I'd have thought you would have spent that time with Cassie and Janet."

Sam's shoulder rubbed against his as she made a tiny shrug. She'd been aiming for nonchalance, but had the sinking suspicion that she'd failed. "I didn't want to intrude. She and Janet had become something - a family - and I wasn't part of that."

"I'm not sure they'd agree with you on that point."

"I did my part and brought her safely to a place where her life could be lived. It's up to Janet to do the rest. Like I said at the park, I'm not exactly mommy material."

"C'mon. You'd have been great." O'Neill's left knee wavered over into her space, nudging hers. "You mother-hen the rest of us amazingly well."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she just moved the popcorn tub to rest on her right thigh, available to either of them. Several long moments passed in silence, both of them watching as the eclipse completed itself, before Sam spoke again. "Janet is the perfect person to adopt her. Steady, intelligent, caring, and mostly Earth-bound. It makes sense. I couldn't have been what Cassandra needed. Even in those days before we knew she'd make it, I wasn't - right."

"You were _exactly_ what she needed, Carter."

"Not long term." She threw a glance at him, only to find he was already looking at her. Watching her as the miracle hovered over them unheeded. "Cassie needs stability. I can't offer her that."

O'Neill made a nod that might have been agreement before reaching over and grabbing a handful out of the popcorn tub. "Except it still kind of stings."

Her breath caught, and then escaped in what might have been a sob or a giggle. "Damn, yes."

His shoulder stilled against hers, becoming something firm between them. On their shared armrest, his forearm shifted, bringing his skin into contact with hers. The large knuckle of his index finger swept a path across the back of her hand. It was deliberate. "She is the luckiest little girl in the universe."

Sam looked up at him, her entire expression a question. "Sir?"

"Despite what happened to bring her here, Cassie's got it made."

"If you don't mind me asking, Sir, how do you figure that?"

The Colonel studied her, his dark eyes glinting. "Well, the way I see it, she's got two people who are qualified to be her mom. Two remarkable women who want to fill that position in her life. Cassie's lucky because there's one who knows that she's the perfect one to take her in and raise her." He stilled, making certain that she was understanding him before continuing. "And another who knows she's not."

Sam didn't know what to say to that, so she merely waited, her lips pressed tightly together.

"Too many kids don't even have one." He hand smoothed along hers again, the movement nearly imperceptible, but not accidental. "You both care about her. It's a good problem to have."

"It still feels like a cop out. Like I'm choosing the job."

"Not the job, Carter." He glanced upwards, where the non-Earth sky had revealed the first glimpses of the black hole's accretion disc. "Reality. You were there with her when she really needed somebody. Not leaving her alone in that silo was - "

"Stupid?"

"Well, there's that. But I was going to say amazing." O'Neill admitted this with an ever-so-slight hint of begrudging admiration in his voice. "Despite the fact that I wanted to completely wail on you for disobeying several direct orders."

Sam winced, narrowing her eyes at him while catching her bottom lip between her teeth. "Yeah. Like I said before, I'm sorry about that."

"There's this little thing called 'chain of command'."

"I've heard about it."

"We might need to have a refresher course." But his tone carried humor, rather than ire. "The three of you frequently show an alarming disability to just do what I say."

"Well, Daniel isn't military."

"True."

"And Teal'c's better at it than the rest of us."

His grin flashed in the dimness of the theater. "Teal'c's better at most things than the rest of us."

She sighed a little laugh. "Well. So much for 'kick-ass Captain'."

The toe of his boot thudded against her shoe. "I wouldn't have you any other way, Carter."

-OOOOOOO-

"Second time was better."

"Well, once you finally stopped chatting so that we could really watch it."

Sam grinned, opening the back door of her Volvo so that the Colonel could stow the cooler on the seat. "Next time I'll add a soundtrack."

"There's going to be a next time?" He'd stepped away from the car enough for her to stick the empty popcorn tub and her laptop on the seat beside the cooler and then swing the door closed.

"Well - yeah. Sure." Carter pulled her sweater closer around her. Night had fallen, and the air had turned cold. The deserted parking lot seemed to funnel the wind directly from the mountains to buffet around them. "If you want."

O'Neill had shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. "It'd be fun. Daniel and Teal'c might want to see it."

"Yeah. Maybe." Sam shrugged. "Although they're not really into the whole Astronomy thing."

His head shook as he grunted a laugh. "Not really."

"Anyway. Tomorrow's a work day, so I'll see you at the Mountain?"

"Bright and early." But he didn't move towards his truck. Instead, the Colonel took a step closer to her. His stance was broad, ready, with an undercurrent of expectant hesitation. He took in a deep breath before speaking again. "You know, back at the silo. On the day that you took Cassie down to the facility."

Sam crossed her arms over her abdomen. "Sir?"

"You thought I was angry with you for disobeying orders."

"Weren't you?" Frowning, she inched towards him. Memories from that day tumbled through her mind, until a single moment emerged. She'd just stepped onto the elevator, Cassandra unconscious in her arms. The Colonel had offered to take her down himself, but she'd refused, and she'd turned in the compartment to see him focused on her. His expression had been intense, profoundly so, and she hadn't had any idea at the time how to interpret it. "You seemed to be."

"I kind of had a feeling that you wouldn't be completely compliant."

She had no ready answer for that, so she merely waited, willing her body not to shiver.

"When you stepped into the elevator, I knew that you wouldn't be coming back up without the girl. And since we all thought she was about to explode - "

Sam's breath caught in her throat, and she exhaled with a little nod. "You thought that I wouldn't be coming back up at all."

"I didn't find that - acceptable." O'Neill suddenly seemed to find the toe of his boot fascinating. So, so quietly, he continued. "In fact, it scared the hell out of me."

"Sir, I - "

"So, let's not do that again." He looked up at her from beneath his heavy brows. "Deal?"

She raised a hand to rake at her bangs, pushing them away from her face. "I can't change who I am, Sir."

"I wouldn't want you to, Captain." The Colonel's voice crept between them like dense fog - soft, yet insistent. "I would, however, like to keep you around."

"Everyone's replaceable."

"No." Shaking his head, he shuffled a step closer, his boots scraping on the asphalt of the parking lot. "That might be true for me, or Daniel or even Teal'c. But not you."

"Sir, I - "

"A team's like a body, Carter. I'm like the head - I make the decisions and plan out what's going to happen. Daniel's like this big ol' bundle of nerves that pokes and prods and irritates the hell out of everyone. Teal'c's the muscle. The strong stuff. He'll pick everyone up and keep going." O'Neill lifted a hand and swiped it across the stubble on his cheeks and chin, ending with a random scratch at his temple. "But you, Captain. You're the soul. You're what makes the brain work and the nerves feel and the muscles strong. Without the soul, the rest of the body wouldn't function."

He scuffed his foot against some loose gravel in the parking lot. "You can replace everything else in the analogy - the head, the muscle, the nerves - but the soul is special. It's like the life of it all. What gives everything else meaning."

A warmth crept through Sam's body, starting at the blush brightening her cheeks and working its way down towards her heart. "I don't know what to say."

"Just say you won't go and get yourself blown up on purpose."

Her dimples flashed as she bit back a grin. "I wish I could give you that promise."

"How about if I made it an order?"

"Yes, well." Tilting her head to one side, she peered up at him. "We've already discussed that whole 'following orders' thing."

"Damn." O'Neill's expression softened a bit. "So I'm still SOL on that front."

"But thank you, Sir." She ran her tongue across her lips, oddly aware that he was watching her do so. The heat spread further within. "To be honest, it's hard to know where I stood in this crowd. Whether I really belonged or was merely tolerated."

"Now you know." He'd somehow gotten close enough to be in her space, and she could feel the heat of him as he reached towards her, clasping her shoulder in what, in other circumstances, in other conversations, in other worlds, might have been a brotherly expression of regard.

But not when his thumb made a lazy sweep over the outer edges of her collarbone, delving into the divot between it and her shoulder, and not when his fingertips traced over the muscle of her arm, learning her shape. Not when she leaned into the touch, her eyelids drifting low as she concentrated on his fingertips as they slid downward, his thumb drifting towards the sensitive portions of her inner arm, and his palm possessively cradling her bicep.

She could hear him exhale, feel his pulse in his fingertips - quick and sure, even through her sweater. Lifting her eyes to his, she fought to control her own breath, just as he was fighting to close off the expression he'd allowed to become too unguarded, too exposed. His hand tightened, then released, and he was stepping away from her, his hand retreating back into the safety of the pocket of his coat.

"So, don't blow up."

"I'll endeavor not to."

Nearly whispers, words more felt than heard.

"I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah." Sam nodded.

"And thanks again - for tonight." He indicated the Planetarium with a motion of his head. "For the black hole."

"Sure. I just figured you'd want to see it. After all that we went through."

He stood motionless, his eyes narrowed at her. That look was back - the one he'd given her while she'd stood in the elevator, an unconscious girl in her arms. Deep, dark, and filled with something that she couldn't have put a name to if she'd tried. His lips pressed tightly together before he responded. "Could have been worse, Sam."

The heat had returned, unfurling from her core upwards. Sam stepped backwards, until her fingertips came into contact with the door handle of her car. With a practiced move, she swung the door open and moved around behind it - whether to hide her flushed face from the Colonel or to prevent her from stepping back into his warmth, she couldn't have told. She sat, inserted her key, and rolled down the window to cast a last look at O'Neill. "Well, good night."

"'Night, Captain."

"See you tomorrow."

"It's always going to be tomorrow, isn't it?"

And later, lying alone in bed with the oppressive silence of her house close around her, the memory of his fingers still hot against her skin, she wondered exactly what he'd meant.


End file.
